


Lover's Ancient Art

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [27]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 00:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another group of colonists and another average day aboard the good ship Enterprise, where Betazoids curse in Klingon and empathy wreaks havoc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lover's Ancient Art

The blond wood felt smooth already beneath his hands. Jean-Luc picked up the headboard and settled it on the workbench. Lining up the template, he clamped it to the wood at the corners. He traced the openings with a fingertip and eyed the pattern; he wouldn't have the chance to change it once it was begun. Considering, he studied the grain of the wood, striations of rich honey against pale cream, picking up the piece to look at the other side before reaching for the router.

The bits of wood flying under the bit of the hand-held tool spattered against his apron. When the long crescent was a millimeter deep, he turned his attention to the constellation of stars in the upper left corner, the stylized rays taking shape swiftly. He hummed as he worked the border, a long scalloped line up the side, across the curved top edge, and down the other side.

When he turned off the router he heard, finally, the annunciator. "Come in," he called, preoccupied with brushing dust and flakes from the grooves and picking up a piece of sanding paper. He heard the door open and close, and a murmur of voices.

"Hey, there."

He glanced over his shoulder. Will stood in the door of the spare room that was to be the nursery. "Brought back my shuttle?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Yep. What's the project? I didn't know you were into woodworking." Will's blue eyes burned with curiosity as he came further in. Bell Sumners came in after him, smiling, and Jean-Luc put down the sandpaper.

"Belle chère, il est bon de vous voir." He kissed her cheek when she came to greet him in like fashion. Her brown eyes held a seriousness he hadn't seen in them before. Considering what had happened last week, he could understand it. Will must still be on probation after the near-breakup.

"What's the project? Is this for the baby?" she asked brightly, smiling and running a finger along the crescent.

"If I don't turn it into kindling." He removed the clamps and set aside the template. "This is one end. The other is there, drying."

Will and Bell both looked at the varnished board standing in a pair of clamps next to the workbench. Will smiled appreciatively and pointed with his bearded chin at it. "Is that a flock of swans?"

"Over a pond of fish. Yes."

"And the moon and stars, for space," Bell said.

Jean-Luc smiled slyly. "Not exactly. This is his mother, the constellation is his father."

"Ah." Bell studied it, and frowned. "I don't understand, cher."

"Pisces. And the moon."

"But not cygnus?" Will asked, coming to look over Bell's shoulder.

"Diana was the goddess of the moon."

Will laughed at that. "And what are you the god of?"

Jean-Luc decided to forego the answer to that question -- a little too embarrassing to admit Deanna called him the 'god of love.' "Are you here for the afternoon, or do you have to rush off?"

"We have time enough to hang around for a day or so. On our way out to explore, no crisis or set mission to attend." Will glanced at some of the other pieces of wood leaning against the wall. "What else are you making?"

"If I'm brave enough, a rocking chair. I'll get Dee." He pulled the apron over his head and draped it on the workbench. "She's taking a nap."

"She's not on the bridge?" Will asked, as they followed Jean-Luc out into the main living area.

"Had a PFO alert. Carlisle's filling in for the afternoon."

"PFO alert. That's not mentioned in *my* copy of standard operating procedures."

"Pregnant first officer. The first three months she was only mildly moody once in a while, nothing spectacular, but the last few weeks have been interesting. Right after you left last week she did a spectacular swing into outright grouchiness. She leveled out again and took another nose dive this morning. Seems to have something to do with levels of emotional stress of those around her, but it's not always that simple. Be right back."

He left them and closed the bedroom door behind him, quietly moving to the end of the bed. Wearing a loose white dress, Deanna lay sprawled on her stomach, the covers bunched under her, her hair in disarray and her face buried in a pillow. He debated making excuses and leaving her sleeping; it had taken an hour of cajoling and back-rubbing to get her to relax this much.

Grouchy had been a mild way of putting it. The second officer had contacted him while he was in the middle of a meeting with Awaya, the liaison to the group of colonists they were transporting. Upon reaching the bridge, Jean-Luc had been confronted with a teary-eyed first officer hiding in his ready room. She seemed merely distraught until she looked at him directly and he'd seen the anger in her eyes. It had taken a direct order to get her to sickbay and then off duty, making her angrier still. In the best interests of all concerned he had taken the liberty of spending the rest of the morning with her, mostly across the room from her while she meditated -- or sat staring at the stars, he couldn't tell which. He had worked on what he could do in his quarters until she'd come to him at last and curled up on his lap. The anger appeared to have been replaced by sad tears. He hadn't questioned her, just held her and let her get it out of her system, then put her to bed.

It had to be a mood swing, the most violent one yet. Dr. Mengis had found nothing wrong. No telling whether she'd be in a better mood if he did wake her, but it was a guarantee that she'd be angry if he didn't. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed her back, watching her stir and the one visible eye crack open.

"Jean?" she murmured.

"Sorry, cygne, but Will and Bell are here. I know you would want to see them. How do you feel?"

A tear appeared, glittered briefly on her lashes, and slid down her nose. "I'm so sorry -- I behaved so badly -- "

"Come here."

She sat up and curled against him eagerly, pressing her nose against the collar of his uniform. While she composed herself, he held her and rubbed her back again. Her hair smelled faintly of the perfume she wore, something floral and Betazoid, he guessed. Unfamiliar.

"How are they?" she said at last.

"Bell has that look in her eye. I think he's still on probation, but they sound fine."

"How are you?"

He sighed deeply. Last week's confrontation with Will had taken a lot out of them. Though the resolution had made her happy, she'd been out of sorts the next day. The aftermath of suffering through torrents of negative emotion. But she'd been correct, the baby hadn't suffered for it. Just them. He still felt a little jagged from the encounter.

"I can be fine. You?" His hand drifted to her belly.

"I feel better. But I always do when I'm sitting in my husband's lap. Even if he's in uniform and we have guests waiting. Oh, you smell good. . . ."

Deanna straddled his thighs and put her hands on his shoulders. Her mood was turning, her teeth closing on his ear lobe, and he laughed at her. "Deebird, come on."

"I'd love to."

He caught her fingers short of undoing his jacket. "You know what I meant. You keep this up and -- stop that. Stop it! Dee!"

The problem was, she knew she could get him distracted enough to go through with it. Her long-ago hypothesis had proved correct; since he'd found out she was pregnant, she could drive him crazy with minimal effort. Something about it stimulated him, and thanks to her hyper-sensitivity to his emotions it made for interesting rounds of sparring. Luckily she didn't try it often, and when she did he could persuade her to back off without much effort. He'd never imagined having to fight to avoid sex. But there were times it simply wasn't appropriate, and they had guests, so this was one of them.

Her hands were too quick, rubbing him through his pants and slipping up his shirt, and she was distracting him with her lips and tongue along his jaw and the pressure of her breasts against his chest. "Stop it," he whispered, entirely unconvincing even to his own ears.

"You want to stop?" she breathed. "Please don't, please, it won't hurt, just a quick one -- just a -- "

"Dee, you know better than this."

"You already have to change your uniform. Where's the harm?"

Her wriggling around in his lap, he realized, had been done sans underwear with her skirt pulled up. Anger spiked for a moment -- then twisted amusement. Another unimaginable thing, his horny wife all over him and he was getting angry about it.

"The harm is we are keeping our friends waiting -- "

"But I want you," she whispered. "I want you, inside me, Jean-Luc, please? Please?"

He shouldn't have looked in her eyes. They hovered a moment staring into each other's eyes -- she wasn't kidding, she wanted it *now.* So did he. What was she doing? This wasn't anything like her, not at all. But she already tore at his pants, freeing him from the constricting discomfort. She had him hard and aching for release, her mouth on his as she fondled and stroked with practiced hands. As inappropriate as it was, letting her finish what she'd started was, at this point, the only option -- he certainly couldn't walk out of the room in this state.

The instant he began to wonder what her definition of 'quick' was, she stopped that exquisite manipulation she was doing and settled over him, setting up a different set of sensations for him to enjoy. She wouldn't let him fall back in bed -- holding him in the same position, sitting on the edge of the mattress, she executed an active and sensuous lap dance while tearing off his comm badge, flinging it over her shoulder, and pulling her dress over her head.

He loved the feel of her writhing in his arms, smooth skin and soft gasps and lips drifting over his face when she wasn't kissing him -- this wasn't good, letting her get away with this. It wasn't good to set a precedent. But it wasn't as though they were about to go back on duty, it was only Will and Bell, and she enjoyed it. And he did, too, though he couldn't bring himself to be completely lost in it. Except. . . she did have a way of kissing him dizzy, and looking at him with that fire, until he couldn't seem to breathe and she seemed to be pulling him into her dark, dark eyes. . . .

They went off together, like firebirds. While lost in their own private little world, flying in heart fire, she smothered any noise either of them might have made in a kiss.

He caught his breath after holding her for a few moments -- she kept nuzzling up to him, kissing his neck and nibbling his ear. "And where did all this come from? Out of sorts all day long, and all of a sudden you're climbing all over me? Not that I'm complaining, it's much preferable to ordering you off the bridge and enduring the Betazoid Death Glare."

"I don't quite understand why. I just wanted, all of a sudden. Like I was intoxicated by you -- I keep telling you you're fuckingly-handsome. Do you believe me yet?"

He snorted, mostly amused, and sighed. "Since you've already delayed us this much. . . ." Indulging in a leisurely kiss, he wished they could simply fall into bed and he could keep her there in his arms. She could have kept him busy longer, if he'd had the ability and inclination; she returned the kiss hungrily. But a nudge got her off his lap and moving -- friends waited, and she did want to see them.

He let her pull him in for a sonic shower. He did feel better, and who wouldn't feel a certain smug satisfaction about having Deanna doing ravenous lap-dancing after begging for it? Especially seeing the good mood it put her in. She hummed happily, even put on an extra burst of speed in getting dressed, putting on a uniform -- it would give him the barrier he'd probably need to keep his mind off more intimate interactions for the duration of their guests' visit, however long it turned out to be, and keep her honest too -- and tying back her hair.

She hesitated when they were both dressed and looked at him -- one of her admiring, 'my-toes-are-curling' looks. Definitely preferable to the Death Glare. They took a step toward each other and stood a few inches apart, her breath caressing his cheek as she leaned in.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"I should be thanking you, actually. I didn't think you would let me do it."

"No. Thank you, for staying with me. For being my wife."

She leaned back to meet his gaze. Searching his face, she frowned a little, then smiled. "That seems an odd thing to say. Why wouldn't I want to stay with you?"

"Why, indeed? You were ready to go home to Betazed. You could have had children on your own, and had a much simpler life."

Startled glints of anger sparked briefly and faded from her eyes. "I didn't want to do that. I wanted you."

"Yes. Which still amazes me. Come, then -- and what exactly is our excuse for being in here so long?"

"A grumpy pregnant woman you had to placate? I took too long in the shower?"

"I'll just let you handle it, how's that? I'm afraid I'll look too smug."

Her smile broadened. "And I won't?"

Jean-Luc sniffed and forced himself to turn away. "Go on, or I'll just tell them to leave and then make you sit in my lap all afternoon."

As she moved past him toward the door, he felt her fingers sliding up his thigh. "As if you would have to *make* me," she whispered, the words tickling his ear.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Bell settled in Will's lap with a smile and played with his beard. "You seem quite relaxed. I'm impressed."

"I told you -- "

"I know. Resolved. No more stress. I want to see it."

He sighed and patted her hip. "You will. I'd like to stop hearing about seeing it, so I'm really looking forward to this. Wonder what's keeping. . . ." He smirked, then shook his head. "Naw, couldn't be."

"Oh, they wouldn't do that to us. Would they?" Bell doubted it, but the thought sparked an idea -- she was bad, so bad, but she couldn't help it. "Although, pregnancy does tend to do things to the libido. Some men find a pregnant wife irresistible. Some pregnant women have the hormonal thing to contend with, too, it makes them -- "

"I get the picture. But I don't think either one of them would do that, with guests waiting."

He didn't seem terribly upset by it. No broody little shadow in his eyes. Good. She'd gotten so tired of that shadow, the one he got when they were with the Picards -- evidently the confrontation last week had really resolved the problem. If only the other difficulty would be so simple to resolve, everything would be perfect. But she couldn't think of that right now. Wrong time, wrong place.

When the door opened, Deanna came out first, in uniform and impeccable. "I'm sorry, I was asleep and it took a bit to wake up. And I had to shower and get dressed -- it's so good to see you, Bell!" She came to bestow a warm hug, which Bell stood to receive. Laughing, Bell patted the bulge.

"Petit Picard. You look very well, if a little tired. You aren't letting her work too much, cher?" Bell turned to Jean-Luc as he emerged from the bedroom.

"Not usually. She can be stubborn, though. Luckily, the captain realizes that allowances have to be made sometimes. Otherwise she'd probably be throwing tantrums about not having her pickles with her on the bridge." He smiled fondly, and Bell thought he looked contented. Happy, relaxed, and quite handsome in uniform. Collected and controlled, as always.

"You think your ensign would mind if we played in her program? I think we should put Bell in the center seat and let her have a taste of what it's like," Will said. He had mentioned that simulation and had seemed that curious about it. Some favorite ensign of the Picards had come up with a holodeck program that'd impressed him.

"I think Natalia would find that amusing," Deanna said. "And flattering."

Bell fell into step with the first officer of the *Enterprise* as they left, the two of them letting the captains go on ahead. "So tell me, chère," she whispered when the men began a discussion of some technical thing, "how is it, now that you're pregnant?"

"How is it?" Deanna did a great Vulcan impression with one eyebrow.

"You know. I'm a nurse. I've seen it all. There are several types of expectant fathers. The distant ones who don't want their friends to think they're weak if they show their feelings. The panicked ones who are petrified to pleasure mère at any stage of pregnancy for fear of hurting the little one, who climb walls whenever mère trips over a crack. And then there are the ravenous ones who want nothing but to tip mère into bed, or on the nearest desk, or just pitch her on the floor of the lift. And you grin -- you weren't in that shower alone, were you, chère?"

"*You* are terrible," Deanna murmured, bumping her shoulder into Bell's arm.

"And you're a happy, sexually-satisfied petite mère. He's very considerate and spoils you silly, doesn't he?"

"It's been difficult for him, in one unexpected way." Deanna sobered somewhat but a smile lingered on. "He didn't anticipate the spoiling-me-silly part. I've had people ask me why he never looks at me while we're on duty. It's a good thing I don't ask for favors, he'd probably cave in and feel he had to resign because he's lost his touch. Which he hasn't, it's just when he looks at me those hard edges get buffed off a little. I'm a little worried about what will happen when I actually look pregnant."

"Are you afraid he'll get worse, or stop chasing you entirely?"

It hadn't occurred to her. She almost stopped walking. "Does that happen? Do they sometimes stop?"

Bell wished she'd shut up while she was ahead. "I'm just kidding, chère. Of course not."

Deanna looked down at the little rounded pooch of her uniform, rubbed it thoughtfully, then smiled. "Things seem to be going well with your captain -- aren't they?"

"Well. . . . Let's just say, he's been more *attentive,* and leave it at that."

Deanna's eyes laughed. "Oh, I'll bet he has. . . ."

~^~^~^~^~^~

"Makes you wonder what they talk about," Will muttered, watching the two women go down the corridor toward the lift to get Natalia. Since the ensign was being put through some sort of training in security it would take a first officer's intervention to pull her free of it, and Dee was probably taking advantage of the situation -- walking down instead of simply calling, just so she could talk to Bell in private.

Jean-Luc shrugged. "Probably babies. I've noticed that tends to be the topic of choice, any more."

A pensive wrinkling of Will's brow made him wonder. "I don't know about that."

"Why?"

"Well. . . you mean you haven't -- maybe you wouldn't. She does tend to be protective of you. I don't know if I could expect the same from her."

"If you'd been that incoherent while you were my first officer I'd have bounced you off the ship so fast your head would've spun." Jean-Luc headed for the holodeck.

"Deanna isn't exactly bashful about sexually-detailed conversations."

"So?"

"So you think she talks about nothing but babies all the time with Bell?"

Jean-Luc slowed outside the door to holodeck two and raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Are you always this paranoid? You think they're exchanging anecdotes? Comparing, perhaps?"

Will stared at him, chewing on his lip. "It doesn't make you nervous thinking she's probably bragging about you?"

"How did we start talking about this? No, I don't think she's bragging. Or telling stories." Bringing up the program menus, Jean-Luc realized Will still looked pensive, and sighed. "What, Will? Are you afraid they're talking about you specifically? Afraid you can't measure up to your younger self?"

Will glared at him. "It's just that I've heard Dee and Beverly before, at some of the receptions we've been to. You think the Riker scale is the only rating they do? I've heard them ogle and compare notes. And Deanna was raised by a woman who once held a party and invited a bunch of her old lovers. I heard quite a good time was had by all."

"She *isn't* her mother," Jean-Luc growled.

"I think you're underestimating her." Will's mercenary smirk wasn't reassuring. "You're. . . who is *that?*"

Jean-Luc turned to look. "Oh, some of the colonists bound for Beyan Turis. We picked two hundred of them up two days ago. It took a bit of creativity on Dee's part, but we found places to house them. Their transport had a warp engine failure and we had to tow it to a starbase." The group appeared to be wearing sheets. Their simple white garments were draped artfully around their bodies in various ways, the patterns of the folds as individual as the person wearing the garment. They marched out of holodeck three waving racquets of some sort at each other and laughing.

"They're Deltan, aren't they?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. And I know what you're going to say, but they've all agreed to observe all the necessary precautions. Most of them have been housed in segregated areas."

Will sniffed. "Like precautions ever kept anything from going wrong before?"

~^~^~^~^~^~

"I don't think you've ever mentioned how you met Will. I know you were assigned to his ship," Deanna said, leading Bell down to the gymnasium complex.

"You mean how we got together. It wasn't anything like your toss of a wadded napkin, chère. In fact, it's a little embarrassing." Bell sighed and tugged at the collar of her undershirt. It always felt uncomfortable when she thought about touchy subjects, for some reason.

"Embarrassing as breaking your leg and being carried out of an away mission?"

Bell stopped at a junction and grinned at her. "That was embarrassing? But. . . you *were* embarrassed. I would think that, if it were the right person, the one I think you mean. . . ."

Deanna's shoulders drooped and her eyes fell, and for a few moments she stopped being the officer. "It isn't easy to begin a romance with your own captain."

"No. Worth it, though. Isn't it?"

"Very much, I think. I do wish sometimes I had someone else to talk to about it. I hesitate to talk much to Beverly -- she's still so uncertain about it. The last thing I want to do is sabotage her relationship with Tom. It's still early, for them."

Bell walked alongside her for a bit, letting a handful of officers go by. When the others had rounded the corner behind them, she sighed. "You can talk to me, you know. We're charter members of that exclusive club -- going where no female officer has gone before. The Captain's Bedwarmer Club."

Deanna's ungraceful, unladylike snort surprised Bell. "You'd get a scowl from Jean-Luc for that."

"I imagine so. Probably also from Will. It's what some of the others in sickbay say about it."

She turned to Bell with startled eyes. "They say things like that, on your own ship?"

"It isn't as though I care. I didn't join Starfleet for popularity. As long as they respect my work, who cares what they think of me off duty?"

"But what about friends? What about companionship?"

Bell smiled -- or tried to. "I would have transferred if it hadn't worked out. I would have had to. It wouldn't be a loss -- I really don't have anyone on *Lexington* I could call friend, not the way Will calls you and Jean-Luc friends. But no worry, I have Will."

She regretted saying anything. Deanna's expression said discomfort and realization. She hadn't thought of any of those things -- she'd always been that sure of Jean-Luc, obviously. Bell felt a pang of jealousy, not because of who Deanna had but the surety with which she had him.

"I hope you know that regardless of what happens between you and Will, I consider you my friend," Deanna said.

"Thanks. I thought so, but I appreciate you saying so." Bell linked arms with her again. "What exactly set him straight, finally?"

It stopped them completely -- though they hadn't been walking fast to begin with. "You mean he didn't talk to you about it?"

"Not in so much detail. He said you and Jean-Luc spent a while talking him through it, and that he just needed to get to know you over again. He said he had a good time with Jean-Luc, spending time on the holodeck. And that Ensign Greenman impressed him. I hope she doesn't have a crush on him, chère. He's happy at last. Just the way I wanted."

"Natalia's brighter than that." Deanna grinned. "She approached Jean-Luc, originally -- don't tell anyone I said that, but it was funny watching him react to it. She didn't even know who he was and when she found out she almost hurt herself falling down. He didn't know quite what to do with her. He's aware that he's got some appeal, certainly, but I don't think he understands exactly what it is. And he certainly didn't understand why she started talking to him in the gym, suddenly. Not until I told him -- then he couldn't believe it."

They entered the gymnasium complex and Bell let go of her arm, falling behind slightly. Deanna led her through to a large workout room full of mats. A small group of people in workout greys stood in rank and file in the middle of the room, facing the instructor. Three people came forward at the commander's instruction; Deanna held Bell back and glanced at her with a smile.

"The one with blond hair -- "

"I remember her from the wedding, chère."

They watched her throw and be thrown. Deanna sighed again and leaned on Bell. "You still haven't told me how you met. Nice dodging, Christabel."

"We're back to that, are we?"

"Curiosity is a powerful thing." Deanna gestured vaguely around them. "It makes people ride around in starships, after all. You know, I may just ask him. He'd tell me."

"Well. . . he knocked me down."

It was enough to distract Deanna from watching Natalia being attacked from two directions. "On purpose?"

"No. He wasn't looking where he was going. It was on a starbase, before I'd officially come aboard, and he came racing around a corner and down I went after a nice intimate tangle of limbs. Very spectacular. Neither of us knew who the other was, of course, he was in civvies and I was just another lieutenant in sciences blue, and he bought me dinner to make up for bruising me in front of my friends. And as we entered the restaurant he finally remembered his manners and introduced himself, and I nearly ran for my life. He wouldn't let me -- by the end of the evening I was lost."

Deanna smiled, distant and fond, as if remembering something. "I'm sure you were. He can be irresistible, can't he?"

"As if your captain isn't?"

She sighed heavily and looked at the floor. "I know."

"Oh, no." Bell rubbed her arm. "I hear something amiss, oui?"

"It's nothing," Deanna said, shaking her head and watching Natalia and the instructor work through a series of blocks and punches. "Just bothersome that I'm so sensitive right now. It's like having an itch you can't scratch, or like a tickle in a place you can't do anything about. I don't get upset about it normally. But suddenly I feel emotions and I can't tell they aren't mine right away -- and by the time I can, it's sometimes too late."

"What are you saying, chère?"

"I've trained myself over time not to react to emotions around me. I have to take non-telepaths at face value, the way they do each other. I have to ignore people who feel attraction to me, or to anyone with me. People feel but don't necessarily act on those feelings."

Bell put her arm through Deanna's. "I've imagined what it must be like to be able to sense emotions. I've almost asked a few times how you were doing. I remember what it was like for you, before, and I feel uncomfortable asking. I think I would prefer regular old human morning sickness. Has it been as bad as when he went missing?"

"No. I become accustomed to having specific people around, and when he's with me it helps me so much. The problem is that I'm still sensitive, and there is someone aboard who has. . . feelings, for him."

"Oh." Bell winced. "Do you know who?"

"No. I think I might be able to guess, probably could find out, but I don't want to. All I can do is get through the best I can."

"Why don't you want to know? I'd go crazy if I were in your place."

Deanna shook her head again, raising a hand to get Natalia's attention as she bowed to the instructor at the conclusion of the demonstration. "I can't know, Bell. If I did it would alter my behavior. This isn't something I can tell him about."

"But it isn't right! He wouldn't want you to feel stress -- it is stressful, isn't it? Knowing someone else aboard is -- do you think he knows about her? Do you -- "

"You see why I can't? Bell, I trust my husband. No, I don't think he knows. He wouldn't be able to. . . ." She paused, as Natalia came to them and stood at attention. "The captain would like to see an example of the simulations you've been running on the holodeck. I'm here to ask your permission, and find out if you would like to join us."

Natalia gaped at her. "Really? I mean -- *really*? He wants to see it?"

"Ensign, if you didn't want him to find out about it, why did you give him clues that led him to it?"

"I figured he'd just check it out and not -- you want me to join you?"

"Why are you so surprised that we're curious? There have been similar uses of the holodeck, but none so organized as what you've been doing, or so popular." Deanna smiled at the ensign. Obviously fond of her, Bell thought, in an almost maternal way.

Natalia shrugged uncomfortably. "I'll just go change, if you mean right now?"

"Hurry, we left two captains on a holodeck."

She gaped again, then shook herself out of it and ran for the showers. Deanna and Bell followed as far as the gymnasium entry, and waited near the door.

"I hope you can handle it," Bell murmured at last.

"I have to. I just hope whoever it is doesn't approach him."

"Because then you'd have to kill her?"

Deanna leaned against a wall. "Or him? I can't tell gender, just emotion. You'd be surprised how similar. . . ."

Bell stared at her -- snapped her mouth shut after a moment. Why would this surprise her? Some of her friends in school hadn't been hetero, or had been in addition to. Maybe her own reaction to Jean-Luc, maybe the fact that he was married to Deanna -- but neither precluded the feelings of others.

"I couldn't live with empathy," she said.

"I have to. And I have to live with this heightened over-sensitive phase of it that tells me one of that group of ensigns over there is leering at you with abandon. Or me, though I suspect it's you. Most aboard have abandoned leering at me; it's generally the new ones who've just come aboard who indulge, and then only until they find out I'm three times removed from any hopes they might have." She might have been bragging, but for the weary tone of voice that said having men feel attraction toward her was very much old news to Deanna.

"Three times?"

"First officer, captain's wife, and likely to break their fingers if they lay a hand on me."

Bell glanced at the group of young men and women standing near the equipment desk. None of them seemed to be paying attention to her or Deanna. "You haven't broken anyone's fingers, have you?"

"Only once, by accident. Fingers are too easy to break. I was standing in a crowded lift on a starbase, wearing civvies, and an ensign tried to goose me. An ensign from another vessel. But there were *Enterprise* ensigns in the same lift, and of course they were made quite aware of what happened when I whipped around and grabbed too hard without looking, snapped the bone in his index finger, and he yelled." Deanna sighed. "It was enough to spread rumors. It's one of those shipboard legends the veterans delight in telling the new recruits. Look out for Commander Troi, she breaks bones when you try to touch her. I'm telling you this in confidence, Bell. Neither Jean-Luc nor Will know about it. I know it's common knowledge because Natalia questioned me about it shortly after she came aboard."

"Chère, are you certain you are all right? I've never heard you talk this way before. And you look tired."

A hand on her abdomen, Deanna looked up at last, and Bell was dismayed to see tears glittering in her eyes. "I'm sorry. It must be one of those odd moods I've been having. You're right, I'm babbling."

"It isn't so much what you say that worries me -- if you're feeling down -- "

"I'll be fine. I'll pick up when we get back to the holodeck."

"You shouldn't push yourself to be cheerful for *his* sake."

Deanna closed her eyes and smiled at that, as if trying not to laugh. "No, Bell, it's his presence that helps me the most. I won't have to try."

"That's very sweet but -- "

"No. He's my husband, Bell. I'm Betazoid. It has more to do with that than anything. If I couldn't work closely with him I probably couldn't manage being on the same ship with all those Deltan colonists we're transporting." She studied Bell for a moment. "You said how you met Will was embarrassing. It sounds very normal to me. People run into each other, even knock each other down, and it doesn't strike me as a particularly humiliating thing."

Bell shrugged sheepishly. "How long was it between the first time you met your captain and the first time you slept with him?"

Comprehension flooded her eyes. "You really got his attention, if he went that fast."

"It wasn't that. It was. . . an understanding. We said it would be casual. Friends, more than anything else. But -- oh, it doesn't matter."

Deanna averted her gaze, casually studying the wall. "It does to you. Were you perhaps rationalizing something in spite of knowing you felt more for him than he did for you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

She nodded and looked at the floor. "If it makes you feel guilt or remorse, clearing the air with him will help."

Bell bit her lip. No response was best; Deanna probably sensed the unreasonable anger that suggestion caused her. The ex-girlfriend repeating the obvious and highlighting Bell's mistake. Just what she needed.

Deanna's head came up. "There she is."

Natalia hurried out of the women's showers, in uniform and with neatly-combed hair, and nearly ran down another ensign on her way across to them. Her brown eyes still wide with stunned disbelief, she followed them to holodeck two. On the way up in the lift, Deanna gave Natalia instructions that provided Bell with a good distraction from her personal problems and made all three of them grin.

As they entered the holodeck and walked down the side of the simulated bridge to join Will and Jean-Luc, Bell noticed Natalia edged closer to her own captain and put the lion's share of her attention on Will. Easy to see where the comfort zone was. And as re-acquaintance was made with Will, Bell wondered if there weren't more to her discomfort than the standard ensign-meets-captain nervousness. Natalia smiled and blushed at Will's usual warm way of greeting just about anyone female.

"It's Natalia's program," Jean-Luc said, gesturing at her. "We should leave assignments up to her."

Natalia gaped a bit. "Sir?" Given the instructions she'd gotten in the lift, this startled Bell -- but both of them must be playing a part, she realized. Deanna must have included Jean-Luc in the setup somehow.

"Bridge assignments? You want me at the helm, or ops, or tactical?" Jean-Luc's eyes laughed, but his subdued smile tried to reassure.

"Oh." She glanced at Deanna. "You didn't tell me it was all up to me."

"Captain's prerogative. So what are our assignments?"

Losing a little of her fear as she thought, Natalia looked from one uniformed officer to the other. "Well. . . I've never seen Captain Riker in command, so let's put him there. Lieutenant Sumners can be helm -- can't you?"

"I'm sure she can crash the ship as well as I can," Deanna said. Both men looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I just thought I'd say it before someone else did. There's always got to be one good-natured joke about how well I crash things."

"That wasn't really something to joke about. Judging from the logs, you executed the saucer landing with textbook perfection." Jean-Luc glanced at Will. "And besides, the commanding officer is always responsible for the welfare of the ship."

"The assignments? You were saying, Ensign?" Will said, after exchanging a brief look with Jean-Luc. Bell almost sighed -- but then, it wasn't a charged look. Just a measuring one. There would probably always be a degree of competitiveness between them. They were men, after all.

Deanna ended up at tactical, Jean-Luc volunteered for ops, and Natalia took the first officer's position. Bell glanced back out of the corner of her eye at Deanna; she was grinning already. Enjoying the joke they'd set up.

"So what are we doing, Ensign? Or is it commander?" Jean-Luc asked.

Natalia cleared her throat. "Well, I've got the simulation for tomorrow night finished -- we could do that. Computer, run simulation Greenman twenty-five variation. . . four."

"Four variations?" Will asked, as the computer chirruped and a starfield appeared on the main viewer.

"Yep. I have the computer shuffle them so I don't even know which one. Also there are several things the computer determines itself." She looked up from the display on the arm of her chair to find them all looking at her. "So, um. . . are we sticking with real rank, or adopting temporary promotions. . . or demotions?"

"Reality might be best if prompt responses are crucial," Deanna suggested. "I don't think calling him Commander Picard will get an immediate response."

"Where are we headed, Ensign?" Will asked.

"We're on course for Bajor, sir. Deep Space Nine. ETA two days, six hours. We're carrying cargo and one admiral bound for the station. Stardate 51342.6."

"So we're back in the war," Will said. "Interesting."

Bell studied her board, trying to decipher how it worked. "If we're going to have a few minutes before something happens, is it possible to get a lesson? This isn't something I had to learn in medical school. Been a while since the Academy."

Jean-Luc smiled and leaned across. "What's the heading?"

"Which one is that?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the others with a look that plainly shouted, 'uh-oh.' "We aren't anywhere near a planet we might run into, I hope?"

Bell chewed her lip and bit back disrespectful remarks at Will, who snickered as Natalia came forward and helped her figure out the panel. It wasn't that hard, actually. Natalia was a patient and helpful teacher. A few minutes after she returned to her place, the action started.

"Incoming transmission, Captain," Deanna said smoothly. "From the Federation starship *Templeton.* A distress call."

"Let's hear it."

Bell glanced at Jean-Luc and noticed he had a faint, amused smile that wouldn't go away. He seemed engrossed in his console, and when the message from the *Templeton* sputtered and faded he went through the ordered maneuvers to boost the signal. Bell watched his fingers move across the controls with graceful sureness.

He really was a splendid man, she thought. He'd have to be an excellent officer, to gain as much respect from Will as he had. He always showed such love and respect for his wife, and exhibited a high tolerance for the nonsense Will had displayed. Such patience and loyalty to his friends. Easy to see why someone else on board might fall for him. While he sat straight in the chair, reporting the results of his efforts to regain the signal and determine a heading, Bell found herself imagining what it would be like. . . .

She caught herself. This was stupid and rude, considering what she'd just talked about with Deanna -- what was she doing? To counter the train of thought she'd nearly wandered into, she turned her attention to the board in front of her and recited her lesson in navigation in her head. It must've been her conversation with Deanna that got her off on that tangent in the first place. Now she understood why Deanna didn't want to tell Jean-Luc about that anonymous admirer, and why Deanna herself didn't want to know -- so easy to get caught up in thinking oneself off into things one wouldn't normally consider.

A guffaw from Jean-Luc brought her out of her musings, and she followed his gaze to find Natalia standing, one foot on the lower end of the horseshoe forming tactical, leaning in a very Riker-esque pose. Bell laughed at the way Will's brow furrowed incredulously at it. He did swagger nicely -- Bell had always thought so anyway. Not surprising that Deanna had wanted to tease him about it.

"Let me guess, that's in the handbook under first officer posturing?" Jean-Luc asked in a lighthearted tone, grinning. Definitely in on the joke. How long had Deanna been planning this? It'd seemed to Bell that she'd just thought of it in the lift.

"Too bad she didn't have time to grow a beard," Deanna said. "She could have stroked it broodingly."

"Oh, funny," Will grumped. "Sit down -- Ensign."

She hesitated, taken aback by his tone, and looked almost afraid to do it. Jean-Luc turned his chair and looked more directly at him. "Is something wrong, Will?"

"Not a thing. Have a seat, Natalia. For the record, you don't have to bend the knee so much." Bell's hackles went up at the carefully-polite tone he took. An attempt at going along with the joke, but it came too late. Deanna glanced at Bell, apologetic; Bell shrugged and glanced at the ensign. Natalia wasn't terribly convinced, either, but she was reassured enough to go back to her chair.

The exercise seemed to be rescuing a small ship from Jem'hadar. Bell struggled with the course changes until suddenly they started happening automatically. She glanced incredulously at Jean-Luc and he winked and pointed at his board. He'd rerouted helm to ops. Nodding at her board, he gave her a conspiratorial smile. She returned it and mimed entering a course when the next change came, following the pattern of the keys as he provided the actual changes. At least Will wouldn't think she was completely incapable.

"Firing quantum torpedoes," Deanna snapped in response to orders. "Direct hit. Target destroyed."

"Target second ship," Will ordered, all business and drama -- Bell hadn't been on the bridge in a crisis so this was a new side of him for her to see. A new side of all of them -- Deanna's urgent tone was different than her usual as well. Natalia became crisp and professional as she made recommendations, some of which Will took.

"Aft shields at forty percent," Deanna said.

"Rerouting power to compensate." Jean-Luc executed a course change in mid-reroute in response to Will's directions -- too impressive. Bell listened in admiration as the four officers destroyed the other Jem'hadar ship and began evacuating the crippled ship.

When the last group beamed aboard, Natalia stood up. "Well, that wasn't very hard, was it?"

"You were intending this for ensigns and lieutenants. It seemed about what I'd expect," Will said, responding to the self-criticism in her tone. "And Jem'hadar aren't the most inventive of opponents. You also only put two of them in the simulation, and normally there would be more of them."

Jean-Luc turned to look back at the others. "Natalia, why don't you switch places with Captain Riker, and let's try another one."

The girl blinked at Jean-Luc. "Okay," she said uncertainly. "Did you have one in mind?" She knew her captain -- he'd had that 'up-to-something' tone of voice.

"I do. Computer, load program gambit, Picard delta four two."

The bridge did an eerie morphing into the bridge of the current *Enterprise,* Sovereign-class, and Will swapped seats with Natalia. She looked a little out of it. No wonder -- her commanding officer spent time creating a sim just for her. Or was this something he just happened to have? He turned back to ops and that knowing, amused smile reappeared, but it had a grim twist to it.

"You're on your own, Captain Greenman."

Immediately a gasp came from tactical, turning all of them but Jean-Luc -- Deanna looked startled and a little pale. "Captain," she said slowly, "long range sensors indicate a Borg cube on approach."

Natalia stared open-mouthed for a moment, turned to Will, then looked at the main viewer, eyes big as deflector dishes. "Red alert. Shields up. On screen."

Too calm. Will looked a little startled himself, at Natalia's reaction; he glanced at Bell, then at the screen.

The screen changed to show a cube. Yep, that was the Borg. Bell couldn't quite keep a sick feeling out of the pit of her stomach at the thought. The *Ares,* her previous posting, had been on mop-up at Wolf. Jean-Luc's mouth had acquired a twisted, serious set of the lips.

"Intercept in eleven minutes," Deanna said.

"Any backup within intercept range?"

"The closest vessel. . . is two days away at warp eight, sir," Deanna replied after checking her board.

"Heading of the cube?"

"Sector zero two one," Jean-Luc threw in. "At present speed, it will reach its destination in one day. The Deneb colonies are in that sector, Captain. They don't have the defensive capabilities to fend off the Borg."

A pause, while the clock ticked. "If we don't head them off no one will," Will said quietly. "Begin modulation of shield frequencies, all weapons at maximum -- "

"Belay that. Begin evacuation procedures -- all personnel except senior officers evacuate to the battle section and prepare for saucer separation," Natalia said calmly. "Commander Troi, route tactical control to my station and take command of the battle bridge. Once we're clear plot a course for the nearest starbase."

"What are you doing? Sir?" Will asked, stumbling over it in honest surprise.

Natalia began punching in commands as Deanna disappeared into the lift -- Bell wondered if she'd really be going to a simulated battle section.

"Mr. Picard, prepare for saucer separation. We're going to make sure the cube doesn't reach its destination. Since we have no backup and no -- "

"You're going to attack them with the saucer? Suicide?" Will asked.

"All decks clear -- ready for separation," Jean-Luc reported. "ETA to Borg vessel, four minutes, forty-three seconds."

"Begin separation. Engage impulse drive the minute we're clear of the warp envelope. Once we've dropped out of warp, I want you to begin programming a set course including evasive maneuvers, and a chain reaction of all weapons, targeting known vulnerable points of the Borg vessel, with a final approach at ramming speed. We should have another fifteen minutes until the Borg reach us, once we're out of warp. Mr. Riker, you and the lieutenant will prepare the captain's gig for departure. We'll be joining you shortly."

At that, Jean-Luc stopped what he was doing and turned around. "Just how many pre-planned scenarios do you have to counter the Borg?"

Natalia shrugged. "A few. This was one of my more recent ones, and I hadn't had time to play with it on the holodeck -- I thought it would be worth a try. Since the gig's warp-capable we should be able to catch up with the rest of the crew with no lives lost. I was about to add the auto-destruct sequence and the utilization of the warp-capable shuttles on auto-pilot to the barrage, along with the use of the transporters to beam torpedoes as well as firing them -- "

"Lieutenant," Jean-Luc said, interrupting her. Natalia paused and looked at Bell, curious. Rolling his eyes, he sniffed and stood up. "Natalia, are these Borg scenarios you've come up with part of your ongoing program?"

"No, sir. Just what I think about at night sometimes."

A shadow ghosted across Jean-Luc's face -- suddenly he seemed very weary, and looked at the floor. "I could hope you don't think of that often."

Bell knew about Locutus second-hand; Will was obviously thinking of it, too, from the sober expression he wore. Natalia was in one of her seeming-older-than-she-was modes, looking at Jean-Luc with serious respect and a little concern.

"You could. I wouldn't lie to you and say I don't. It isn't easy to forget, when every other message I get from Mom asks me the same thing. Have we been in any battles lately, by which she means have the Borg come to get me, too."

Jean-Luc took slow steps toward the ensign, crossing his arms. "You realize there are some details you've forgotten. The Borg would have put a tractor on the saucer section."

"It *was* something I hadn't thought through completely. I'd probably stay aboard to pilot it and launch countermeasures."

He sat in the empty counselor's chair and ran a hand over his head. "Risk assimilation?"

"Whatever it takes," she murmured.

Silence. Will leaned back against the arm of his chair, watching the two staring at each other.

"I suppose it's a good thing you're only a lieutenant, then," Jean-Luc said at last.

Natalia grinned. "Thank you, sir."

One of those transparent fond scowls of Jean-Luc's followed. "Who told you?"

"You did. No-name ensigns don't get stuck in sims without other no-name ensigns for no reason, not even when the captain yanks her chain about handbooks and toothbrushes. If you don't play favorites with your own wife you wouldn't do it for me."

Deanna returned from the lift and came down the ramp. "You probably went overboard with the Borg, Captain."

"Speaking of which," Will said, nodding at the viewscreen. "We're about to get destroyed."

"Computer, end program," Jean-Luc said. "Run Picard alpha one three."

Bell closed her eyes just in time -- she hated these mid-program shifts. She reopened them on a kitchen, bright with sunshine through a bank of windows, clean yellow countertops and an old-fashioned sink and stove. Bird song drifted through one open pane. Deanna turned at once to the rack hanging over the stove and took down a copper teapot. Bell, Will and Jean-Luc sat with Natalia at a large wooden table.

"Tea with the captain?" Natalia's grin went cheesy. "So am I a full lieutenant or a j.g.?"

"What do you think you deserve?"

"Probably a quick torpedo ride into a black hole for being ballsy enough to bring you an apple pie last week. I knew promotions were coming up."

"Apple pie?" Will asked. "The one you fed me?"

"That was Natalia's cooking," Deanna said from the stove. "She does desserts very well. The two of you should cook us dinner."

Will grinned at the lieutenant. "Hey, I'm up for that. It was a good pie. What else can you do?"

"You cook?" Natalia exclaimed. Her open admiration brought up an alarm in Bell's mind, which she set aside quickly -- no matter what the girl thought, even if she had the temerity to voice the thought, Will wouldn't go along with it.

But he would smile at the girl that way, wouldn't he? "You think captains do nothing but read reports and give orders? Yes, I cook. Ask Bell."

"The only thing he hasn't been able to manage is French cooking," Bell said, forcing a smile of her own. "So is she a j.g. or not?"

Jean-Luc removed one of his own pips and gestured for her to come closer. She leaned to one side and forward in her chair, he put the pip next to her hollow one, and she raised a hand to touch the addition to her collar as if getting acquainted with it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Congratulations, Ensi -- Lieutenant." Will had a proud smile, too. "I know it took a lot more than a simulation and a pie to get that. Right -- Commander Picard?" He pointed with his chin at the three remaining pips on Jean-Luc's collar.

"Funny, Will."

Deanna glanced out a window. "This is a new version of the chateau, isn't it?"

"The functional kitchen should have been the first clue," Jean-Luc said.

"The flowers blooming outside were the second." The kettle whistled, and a moment later Deanna brought a tray with tea cups and kettle to the table. "By the way, welcome to our chateau."

"In France?" Bell looked around with new interest. "It's beautiful, cher capitaine. Very old fashioned."

"So why did you name your ship *Bumblebee,* Natalia?" Will asked.

The girl looked startled by the question. "Well. . . it was what went through my head while we were doing that war game when Commander Troi took over. That song, you know, Flight of the Bumblebee?"

Deanna plunked a cup in front of Natalia with more force than necessary, looked at her with more intensity than expected, but then laughed at it. "I suppose the flight path I plotted was like that, wasn't it?"

They drank a toast with Earl Grey to the new lieutenant, j.g., and laughed over Deanna's teasing Will about playing the trombone to honor the occasion. While Natalia asked Will about something he'd done as first officer of the *Enterprise,* Bell noticed Deanna looking at her with an odd expression. The minute Bell saw it, the expression went away, and Madame Picard smiled serenely and came to sit next to her on the other side of the table.

"So when are we going to have the next wedding?" she asked quietly, while Will described with amused tones some adventure he had on an away team.

Bell tried to keep the smile in place. It didn't work. She drank tea instead, her second cup, lukewarm and yet a welcome alternative to answering the question.

"Why don't I show you the rest of the house?" Deanna asked, just as quietly.

"Sure. Why not?"

They left the others involved in their reminiscing. Deanna got as far as the big window in the living room and sat down on a sofa in front of it, abandoning pretense of a tour. "What's wrong?"

Bell sat on the other end of the sofa, on the edge of the cushion, and crossed her arms. "Nothing's wrong."

"Officially as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you mean? Does that include Will?"

"He wants marriage. I told him I'd think about it. That it's too soon, and I needed more time, after last week -- I'm just waiting to feel right about it. But I don't know if it's really what I want."

"But you love him."

Bell closed her eyes and drifted a moment, thinking about it. "You know that I do. No one has to tell you how they feel, after all. You also know every single time I've felt uneasy in your presence, and every time -- "

"I don't always pay attention to everyone's feelings every second, Bell. I can't. But there's something wrong, and I'd like to help you if I could."

"What's it like? Being an empath? Do you feel overwhelmed by emotions sometimes?" Hopefully that would deflect this. The thought of Deanna knowing how she felt every second bothered her, especially after all the weird tangents she'd been on that day. Thinking about Jean-Luc in a less than proper way, her little sparks of trepidation over Natalia's obvious attraction to Will, and now this question about the wedding. She rubbed the ridges of bone beneath her eyes, still hiding behind her eyelids and feeling the strain of the past week and a half coming to bear on her.

Deanna answered slowly, accepting her need to know. "You've been to the ocean, or a large lake? Imagine walking out into the water chest-deep. Imagine all the differences there can be -- temperature, currents, tides, wind speed and wind chill factor, obstacles in the water. Branches, rocks, weeds, the bottom underfoot which could be muck, sand, pebbled ground, or larger rocks. Then there are animals that could swim up and bite you, from insect-sized up to larger creatures. Being aboard the ship is like being in a familiar pond. The emotions of familiar people have their own rhythms and patterns. I can become accustomed to them the way one would water temperature, but there are still the unexpected random events -- like the nip of an animal or the odd cold breeze, or the jab of a stick I step on."

Bell opened her eyes when Deanna took her hand. She'd scooted over to sit next to her, and caught her gaze with her sympathetic wide eyes. They sat in silence for a few minutes; Jean-Luc's laughter echoed from the kitchen.

"When I mentioned the idea of a wedding you stuck me in the toe with a stick, Bell," she said softly. "Yes, I know how you feel about him. I know he feels the same for you. What you felt just now isn't uncertainty. It's fear. Not the type one feels about commitment. The sharper kind, the kind someone has when confronted with an impasse."

Bell felt like echoing Picard's oft-repeated phrase, 'damned empath,' but not with so much affection. "I know you mean well, chère, but -- "

"I don't want to talk about it unless you want to tell me. But I think Will doesn't know there is something wrong, and it's unfair of you not to talk to him. I've chastised him for not being up front with you about some things, and now I find that you're keeping things buried deep inside. To be fair, I ask you to be honest. Just like I asked him to be. Talk to him about whatever you're keeping inside. Now you have me worried, for both your sakes."

"I know I have to. I will. Thank you for your concern."

Deanna's weak smile said she wasn't so sure about that, but she nodded and they rejoined the others. Bell managed to be smiling by the time they reached the table.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Jean-Luc survived the rest of the afternoon and evening well enough, he supposed.

Well -- that wasn't fair. He enjoyed it. Even the teasing, which, now that Will wasn't walking around with that dark brooding look, had increased exponentially. He only wished that he could have justifiably persuaded Natalia to leave earlier so she hadn't heard all of it, but it was what it was.

Giving her the pip right then hadn't been planned, but when it came down to it, he really did play favorites. He'd have done the same for Wesley, had he still been aboard, and they *had* done the same for Worf and Data -- gone to the holodeck and held a small, personal ceremony.

The hug though -- that wouldn't have happened with anyone but Natalia. Will didn't capitalize on it, luckily, just smiled at the way Natalia had impulsively launched herself at Jean-Luc as she thanked him one last time as she left, then run for her life out of embarrassment that she'd caved in to the emotion of the moment. But it told Jean-Luc that she was happy and proud of herself, and that she had come through the simulation under his watchful eye without bearing a grudge. He had been dismayed to find that she'd been thinking about the Borg all along but in retrospect it made sense. Of course she would think of it. Her father had died at Wolf. Her mentor had once been assimilated. The Borg were still a threat, albeit a quiescent one at the moment.

In his quarters, he lingered at his desk to check over the reports from the bridge and the messages -- another one from Lwaxana. The woman wouldn't give up. All the incessant pleas for Deanna to come home or for the ship to come pick her up, as if Betazed were just around the corner from where they were supposed to be. He almost turned off the monitor and headed for the bedroom, but then he saw the message was intended for *him* instead of Deanna, unlike all the others.

Curiosity killed the captain. Rather than put up with her gushing and cajoling, he had the computer translate it to text only.

_Jean-Luc, I'll just come to the point. I'm worried about my daughter. I know you're just going to dismiss this as frivolous worry, but I assure you it isn't. You probably have no idea what being pregnant is doing to my Little One. She's only an empath, that's true, but there are certain constants for Betazoids in general, being telepathically-sensitive during pregnancy being one of them. She's never been good at admitting when she needs help -- she dismisses my concern as if she can handle it. I may have had my misgivings about you as a husband for my Little One, but she has been very happy and you have been extremely supportive of her, and I appreciate that, so I felt it my duty to warn you, in her best interests and yours. _

_I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I know you think very highly of her abilities and that's as it should be, and you probably assume hajira will smooth over any misunderstandings, but BE CAREFUL. Being pregnant can make any Betazoid woman prone to react unpredictably to things she can sense. Don't make assumptions, dear captain. It's dangerous. Especially when she can tell how you feel every moment -- and how others feel about you._

_Please bring her home soon. The rest of the family would love to meet you, too. And do remind her to answer my messages once in a while. I know she's terribly busy being first officer and all, but I'm her mother.  
_  
Unexpected and serious as it was, Jean-Luc stared at it a few moments, then turned off the monitor when he heard Deanna approaching. She stood in the bedroom door a moment, looking confused, then crossed to the desk and leaned on him.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Do you like Bell?"

Why did this sound like a loaded question? Because of the warning from her mother, because of her moodiness all morning, or just because it was ground already covered? She knew well enough when he felt fleeting attractions to other women, and Bell was certainly one of those he'd have given more than a passing glance, if circumstances were different.

"She's all right, I suppose. I can think of someone I like better."

"Who?"

She sounded too casual. He looked up at her skeptically. "Deanna, are you all right?"

"Fine. Why?"

"I don't care for the way you're sounding -- it's almost as though you're suspicious. If you have concerns, I'd rather you aired them than feel -- "

"Why were you winking at her?"

"What?"

"In the simulation -- she felt attraction for you and the next thing I know you're winking at her!"

Jean-Luc stood up and took her by the shoulders. Mustering as much calm as he could manage, he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "I don't know why or what she felt, but Dee, I was only taking over the helm for her because she was struggling with the course changes. I transferred it to my console and pointed it out to her. It wasn't anything to be concerned about, from my end of things."

Her eyes began to glitter in a too-familiar way. She ducked her head and covered her mouth. "I'm being silly, aren't I? But it was so -- she looked at you, even Will noticed, he was out of sorts for a minute or two -- it was why he nearly snapped at Nat."

"Ah -- I wondered about that. But everything settled, we had a good time with them and dinner was excellent -- Nat's getting better with her cobbler. Everything's fine. Chère, if you feel any doubt, you know you can talk to me about it. Oui?"

To his dismay, she started to cry again in earnest. He pulled her against his chest and let her sob, trying not to worry and doing his best to project calm assurance. When at length she seemed calm, he patted her shoulder and tried to guide her toward the bedroom. She interrupted with a surprisingly-passionate kiss.

Not that he minded that much, but it struck him as odd, given the weeping she'd just done. Holding her face in his hands, he pulled away at last and studied her. "Is everything all right? You're not usually this abrupt with the mood swings."

"I know, but -- you're so good to me, Jean-Fish. I love you, and I just can't help myself." She wasn't lying, but he wondered if she weren't hiding something from him. Her eyes wouldn't stay on his for very long.

"How do you feel tonight? Any soreness?"

"No. It's just been a moody day -- a little turbulent, with Will and Bell here. Let's put on some soft music and meditate for a bit before you have to meet with the quartet. Do you think the others would mind if I went along to listen to you practice?"

"I don't see why not. Maybe a little surprised." She'd never wanted to listen to a practice before. He gripped her shoulders, kneading tight muscles, and checked her eyes again. "You're sure everything's all right, Deebird?"

"It is now. I just need to calm and center myself before we go back out in public." She smiled wearily. "And since you've offered, a shoulder rub sounds heavenly."

He followed her into the bedroom, smiling confidently. Lwaxana was being paranoid. Deebird was moodier than usual, perhaps, but she would be fine.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Will was being way too quiet. Bell could feel tension -- was it hers, or his, or both? In the darkness of the bedroom, flat on her back in bed next to him, she pondered.

Everything, from the simulation to dinner to dessert to the good-byes in the transporter room, had gone well -- at least it appeared to have gone well. Everyone had been happy. So why this? He stirred slightly. His arm brushed hers. It wasn't like she expected cuddling and such every single night, but this distance was different somehow.

"Everything all right?"

"Fine."

Bell sat up. "Cher, it is *not* fine. While I don't think it's the same problem as before, I have the feeling there's something upsetting you."

"It's nothing, Bell, go to sleep."

Swinging her legs off the side, she would have left the bed if he hadn't grabbed her arm. "Will!"

He eased off, but sat up. She could see him by starlight, running his fingers through his hair . "Sorry. I'm just edgy, that's all. It's nothing -- it's stupid."

"But you *are* upset, and that makes it a worry for me, especially after I nearly ruined everything, and after all we've been through -- I honestly don't know what you could have to be upset about. Deanna is so happy, so is he -- they both enjoyed our visit and Natalia's such a cute little thing. It's like they already have a daughter in her. I don't understand what would upset you, but I'd like to. I don't want anything to -- "

"I saw the way you looked at him. It just bugged me, that's all."

"Looked at -- what are you talk -- oh. Oh, Will, for God's sake! Why is it all right for you to look at women and the minute I glance at a man for a few seconds it's suddenly -- "

"I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it," he cut in sternly.

Putting hands to face, she groaned and tried not to be so upset. "I'm sorry. I didn't do more than glance -- it was only that Deanna and I were talking a bit about how sometimes expectant fathers become more interested, more. . . . It must have put me on that line of thought and I only -- it was nothing but a thought. I immediately took my mind right off it."

"You and Dee were talking about sex?" What was this pouting about?

"What are you accusing me of? You think I would talk to -- you think I'd *compare* with another woman, with one of your old girlfriends? You think -- " She did leave the bed then, pacing around the end of it and around the room. "William Riker, you are truly amazing!"

"Bell, settle -- "

"I'll settle down, all right. I'll just settle down out here on the couch until you're finished with your little fantasy. There isn't enough room in that bed for all three of us -- let me know when your paranoia moves out of my way."

She hurried out and fell on the couch, curling up and trying not to make noise when she cried. Already she regretted making such a big deal out of it, but she knew if she went back in right away there might be a bigger blowup than that. After all, he could start pointing a finger at her about *her* paranoia. Her issues. Her annoyance at his worry over Deanna, who was after all a good friend. And Deanna sensing that fear she now felt, over a completely different issue, didn't help. Now that the doubts over Will's motivations were done, the hazy theoretical talk of their future together became more serious. Or maybe she was simply taking it more seriously, now that the 'easy' out of blaming Will's 'obsession' wasn't there. Now if the relationship failed, it would be her fault.

She couldn't handle this yet. She wasn't finished sorting herself out.

She needed more time.

They were both edgy, leftover nervousness from their major fight and near-breakup last week -- it was too soon. They should've avoided seeing the Picards for a while. Should've left the shuttle at a base for them to pick up. Left it drifting in space, for all she cared.

She needed objectivity. Time. She couldn't talk to Deanna -- no matter how wonderful she was, she was still Will's ex-girlfriend, not to mention one of his better friends, and therefore not objective or a comfortable listening ear for Bell. The *Lexington*'s counselor was out. Maybe Corey could handle it, but Bell wasn't willing to speak of this to any fellow crew member. The captain's woman, at least on this ship, had no one.

More than anything else, she wanted to sit down with her Nana over her thumbprint cookies and hot lapsang souchong tea, and discuss this the way she'd always talked about her juvenile romances and their intricacies. But her grandmother was dead, and her mother would see Will as a risk her daughter shouldn't take. And all her relatives were too far away for a chat over tea anyway.

It felt cold there in the darkness, though she knew that was only her perception. The temperature never varied on the ship unless by design. She heard the quiet tread of a bare foot on the carpet.

"Bell?"

"What?" God, she sounded pouty and not at all herself.

"I'm sorry. But it just bothered me -- it's not easy seeing you look at another man, period, and that it had to be him of all people -- can we just forget about it? Come back to bed? Please?"

Bell sat up slowly. "I don't mean to be so upset about it. It wasn't anything, Will. I guess I'm still jumpy. . . . Forgive me."

"Come on, Bell. Let's get some sleep. Okay?"

She went to him and kissed his whiskers, rubbing her cheek along his and recalling the way Deanna had teased him about wearing carpeting on his chin. "Just for the record? I like the beard, cher. I like the way it feels. Wherever you put it."

"Really?" Ahhh. . . there it was. Sly interest. So easy to get his attention that way.

"Mmm, yes. . . you don't suppose. . . I could request that you put it somewhere right now?"

He chuckled -- she loved that husky quality his voice got when he was tired, or just relaxed. He found her in the darkness easily and kissed her, those practiced hands of his moving down her body, pulling the short gown off over her head. Pushing her against the door frame, he kissed her harder, his beard scraping her nose and chin.

When she wrapped her arms and legs around him, he carried her in to the bed. Surrender never felt so good as when Will won the battle. And, for another night, she could avoid thinking about what she had to face, sometime soon.

~^~^~^~^~^~

The following morning, Jean-Luc entered the designated briefing room to find Awaya waiting for him, her hands folded on her lap, regal as a queen. She smiled and inclined her head in his direction as he sat across the table from her.

"I'm sorry about the interruption yesterday. Were you able to contact the governor in the interim?"

"Yes, Captain. He assures me the cargo was not lost on his end, that he's rechecked and done a physical search of the spaceport. I'm not certain I know what can be done at this point -- the transport captain swears it was delivered, the colony swears it never arrived -- how silly that somehow we've misplaced our luggage." Her amused smile revealed neat rows of white teeth. "This would seem to be a doomed endeavor from start to finish. Our cargo misplaced, then our own transport becomes stranded in space, forcing you to rescue us."

"The best laid plans of mice and men," Jean-Luc said, turning to the padd he held to bring up messages in hopes of finding one from the commander of the last starbase the transport had stopped at. He had sent out inquiries yesterday afternoon. No answers yet. "I had hoped to find -- is something the matter?"

"Mice?" Awaya had fine, patrician features, and carried herself with a quiet dignity; her slight frown barely caused wrinkles. Like all Deltans, she didn't have hair on her head, even eyebrows -- but she was beautiful, in an ethereal way. That serenity reminded him of his Deebird, at her most goddess-like.

"I'm sorry, that's an old cliche. It means that things go wrong even when we do our best to plan ahead."

She smiled again. "Yes. That is very true. So what can we do next, to find our mislaid cargo?"

"Well, according to the course registered by the transport, they made stops at a number of space ports between Delta and Beyan Turis. I sent messages to check with those ports and find out if perhaps the cargo was mishandled at one of them."

"I have complete confidence in you, Captain," she replied huskily. Stars flared to life in her eyes. "In the meantime, I would like to continue our conversation of yesterday morning, the one that was so unfortunately interrupted. The one about you and I."

"Conversation?" Why didn't he remember that? He remembered talking about the missing cargo the colonists had sent ahead of them, he remembered a few questions he'd asked about whether or not stereotypes about the Deltan culture were true -- nothing of any real --

He startled himself -- caught himself drifting off, looking into her wide blue eyes, shocked to find he'd been lost in them. Her tiny, knowing smile further woke him from the daze he'd fallen into.

"Awaya. . . I'm sorry. I seem to be not quite myself today. . . ." Why was he out of breath?

He realized after a few seconds, quite abruptly, that his body was alert and ready for action. He actually looked down at himself and froze in shock as he took stock of the perspiration, the state of arousal, the quickness of breath -- and remembered that Deanna habitually leaned on him throughout the day for emotional stability, and there was a very good chance she knew --

"My wife," he gasped. "What she'll think. . . . I have to go, I can't -- "

"Your wife?" The smile vanished abruptly. "I wasn't aware you were married, Captain."

"Yes, I -- " He stared at her, suddenly guessing at why Deanna had gone off the deep end the previous morning and not liking the thought. "Deltans are empathic, aren't they?"

"Yes. Captain, I must apologize to you. I know that often Earth humans are monogamous and that -- oh, this is very difficult. I'm afraid that I have committed a grave error. You see, yesterday morning, when you came in, you were feeling. . . but it must have been your wife you had in mind. You were probably just with her, moments prior. I assumed that it was *me* that you -- "

"You've been trying to -- But I thought you had a. . . ."

"I do. Eran finds you quite attractive, also. I would have said something yesterday if you had not been called away so suddenly. But of course I would never wish to -- "

"You said precautions, you said there would be measures taken -- " But of course those precautions had been chemical measures to counteract Deltan pheromones. None of the colonists would have taken the oath of celibacy required of Deltan Starfleet officers. "I think that perhaps I should allow you to work with my second officer, from this point forward," Jean-Luc exclaimed, the words tumbling out too fast.

"But Captain, there has been no error -- I found out before -- "

"No, you don't understand," he blurted. "My wife is Betazoid -- an empath. She's pregnant! It makes her extremely sensitive to -- "

The doors opened, and Deanna swept into the room, her face as red as his likely was. She looked at Awaya and then at him, as if she couldn't decide whether to be furious or anguished by this.

"Commander Troi," Awaya said, holding out a hand. "My profound apologies for misunderstanding -- "

"bIjatlh 'e' yImev!"

Jean-Luc didn't remember leaving the chair, but he made it to Deanna in time to keep her from leaping headlong over the table at Awaya, as she appeared to be contemplating. "Perhaps you should leave," he exclaimed, directing it at the Deltan. "Before she finishes the transformation into a Klingon warrior."

Awaya hurried around the table and edged toward the door, hesitating even though Deanna glared at her. "I am truly sorry. I didn't know he was your husband." She cast one last apologetic glance at Jean-Luc and hurried out.

Jean-Luc let go of her arms and turned a chair, hoping she would take the hint and sit down. She did, but looked like she wanted to start throwing furniture instead. Dropping into the neighboring chair, he took her hands and spent a few moments settling himself before looking in her eyes again.

"Dee, listen to me -- you're too sensitive right now and this isn't the time for long explanations. But I think you ought to reconsider using a psylosynine inhibitor. At least while we have emotionally turbulent situations to endure? Or other empaths aboard?"

"I don't *want* an inhibitor! I hate feeling helpless!" she blurted, then the anger glinting in her eyes rose a notch. "You just want to keep me from finding out how you feel about other women! You want to -- "

"I do not! Deanna, you're not being rational. Look at me -- just slow down and breathe, all right? Just -- "

"Don't *patronize* me!" She shoved his hands away. "Leave me alone! Do you have any idea what she was *thinking* about you? You were joining her in a trance! Did you think I wouldn't know when the two of you were in trance and -- "

"It wasn't like that! She didn't know, she didn't realize I was married and that I wouldn't -- NO! Dee, don't -- "

And, launching herself from the chair, leaving it spinning in her wake, out the door she went, marching like a militiaman on the way to battle. He made it to the door as she entered the lift not ten paces from the briefing room, and he heard her snapped order to the computer as the doors closed.

The bridge.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Bell didn't remember if she'd ever been on the *Enterprise* bridge before. It was bigger than the one on *Lexington* and very much like the holodeck sim from yesterday except for the crew present. While they waited for Deanna to return from wherever she'd hurried off to, Will stood at tactical talking quietly with the security chief. Lieutenant-Commander deLio, she remembered.

When Deanna shot out of the lift, she nearly ran into Bell bodily. "Excuse me," she rapped out. She practically ran down the ramp while the entire bridge crew stared at her as if debating the wisdom of remaining at their posts. The ensign at the helm actually glanced at the starboard lift, possibly assessing an escape route.

Will left deLio's post and came to Bell's side, questioning silently with his eyes, and Bell shrugged. Both of them looked down at ops, where Carlisle sat looking over his shoulder and biting his lip.

"Is everything all right, Commander?" the second officer asked.

"Fine! Mind your board!" Ouch. Bell hoped the future Picard children were well-behaved, for their sake. That tone of voice was the equivalent of a well-placed whack on the head. Maman on the rampage.

When the lift opened again, Jean-Luc came out at a leisurely pace -- too casual. Bell watched him advance, noting that the crew relaxed visibly at his appearance. He went down the side of the bridge, tugging at his sleeve absently, and stopped in front of his chair. He gave the occupant of his chair a long, calm look from beneath his eyelashes.

"I would like to see you in my ready room, Commander," he said quietly.

No answer. Carlisle couldn't resist peering over his shoulder again, and Bell clutched Will's hand. This didn't look good. Deanna should have answered. They couldn't see their friend, not even the back of her head, from where they stood at the aft side of tactical. Bell wasn't certain she wanted to see Deanna's face at this point.

"I am not in the habit of repeating orders. You will either comply, or tender your resignation." How plainly Captain Picard spoke, how calm -- he sounded as though he were speaking of posting the latest duty roster.

Deanna exploded from the chair and sailed toward the ready room door, hands behind her back -- Jean-Luc stood back as if propelled by the force of her passing, then went after her, his steps measured and casual yet managing to convey the air of someone walking out to meet a firing squad. The door closed behind him. A few loud exhales spoke of the tension being released.

"Shit on a stick," one of the lieutenants muttered from a science station. Will turned in tandem with deLio to stare at him; the man paled and turned to his duties. Will met Bell's gaze and sighed deeply.

"I'm *so* glad I'm not a bridge officer, cher," she whispered. "Maybe we should be somewhere else?"

"I have to admit curiosity, but I think you're right. Have you seen the arboretum?"

~^~^~^~^~^~

The instant the door closed, Jean-Luc ordered it locked, his voice authorization only, and approached the chair where Deanna sat facing the desk, her back straight and stiff.

"You didn't give me a choice," he said softly.

She said nothing and seemed intent on burning a hole in the hull behind his desk, just with the force of her glare. Carefully, slowly, he leaned against the leading edge of his desk and crossed his arms.

"Dee. Don't do this. Awaya misunderstood. Yesterday morning I walked into a meeting with her after one of your amorous morning ambushes, and she picked up on the echoes of that and thought it was meant for her. You obviously picked up on her reaction, and just now you sensed my being drawn into trance without my permission. It was a mistake."

Her lips parted, her eyes closed, and she gasped -- something was wrong. "Jean," she moaned. "I can't -- do this -- do you know what she was doing? Do you understand what she was feeling? You have to let me go meditate -- "

It registered at last that she'd knotted her hands in her lap and she was flushed. "What about -- "

"Heart fire would be a really, really bad idea," she said tightly. "Really bad. It -- hurts, I want, it hurts -- "

"Having Deltans aboard was not a good idea, was it? Dee, you have to use an inhibitor. At least a limited dosage, to block them out and keep you from going insane? Please?"

"I was trying to stay on duty, to compose myself that way, to -- I'm sorry I said what I said to you in the briefing room it was irrational and I feel as though I've let you down. . . I lost control. I'm losing. . . ."

"Commander, you haven't let me down. You have a problem. You're keyed up and you need rest, yes? What would be the easiest solution? A sedative? A -- "

She came out of the chair and had him by the front of his jacket in an instant. Her breath felt hot on his face. "I -- need -- you. Now."

"Dee! *Commander!* Stop it -- " Her fingers wouldn't come loose, and he was afraid to pull harder; she had such a grip that he might break her bones trying to free himself. "You have better control than this!"

"She's just as bad as I am, caught up in it," Deanna whimpered, throwing her head back. "She's finding a way to release it -- please, oohhhh, Jean, help me -- "

Finally, he realized the full scope of the situation. Deltans, doing what Deltans would do, and him with a hyper-sensitive Betazoid trying to block it out -- and he'd just had Awaya trying to pull him into trance with her. That famed trance, the beginnings of a legendary sexual experience, and then she'd gone her way. He could recover quickly enough; he was a human, not an empath or telepath, after all. But who knew if Awaya could dispel the effects of what she'd done -- and even if she could, why wouldn't she just go find her partner Eran and simply continue? And Deanna had channeled right into it through him, and now seemed helpless to block it.

"You can't disconnect from it? The inhibitor -- hell," he gasped as her hand closed on him through his pants. "Bloody hell! This is the ready room! We're supposed to be on duty!"

She seemed to try, pushing away from him, but her fingers didn't seem able to unclench. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she whimpered, before her teeth latched on to his neck. "You don't know what it's like -- it feels -- like -- aaaAHH!" With that frustrated cry, she leaped on him.

Her lunge nearly sent both of them across the desk. "Picard to transporter room, site to site transport directly to my quarters!"

The moment's pause did nothing to slacken her onslaught; she clung and leaned heavily against him. Instead of falling across the desk, he stumbled into the table and chairs. At least now they weren't anywhere near the bridge.

The problem was now what to do with his cygne, who pulled at his uniform, more like a hawk than a swan at the moment. She kept her eyes shut and gasped raggedly for air. Trying to control herself. He caught her hands; she threw herself against him bodily with a half-sob.

"Go back to the bridge," she said through clenched teeth, sounding miserable.

"I can't leave you this way. There must be something -- "

"You're already bonded to an empath. It made you sensitive to it. You weren't expecting it. It wasn't your fault. I just need to -- "

"I can't leave you. If you try to hold this inside and cope with it, if it's affecting you this much, will it harm the baby?"

"I don't know -- I'm sorry, I can't think very well. She's not the only one doing it any more. In a -- few minutes -- the inhibitor, I left a hypo in the top drawer in the bedroom -- "

He backed her to the couch and sat her down, then went after the hypo. The dosage had been pre-set. When he returned, she turned her head and pulled down her collar, leaning away from him as he pressed it low on her neck. A sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin, giving her a waxy appearance. This couldn't be good for her. He brushed her hair, which was falling out of the band, out of her face. She sat with her hands in her lap as if praying, tension slowly ebbing, but frustration remained in the twist of her mouth.

"I hate this," she gasped at last. "I hate the inhibitor -- I hate not being able to sense anything! It's like being deaf. I can't -- "

"Cygne, let's make you a little more comfortable? Try to relax. Come on."

He started with the pips, the comm badge, then worked off her uniform a piece at a time -- jacket, boots, shirt, pants. She kept her eyes shut all the while, still, as if it made a difference. He knew before she'd been avoiding his eyes because of the potential distraction of heart fire, but certainly with the psylosynine inhibitor at work she didn't have to any longer.

"I'm all right, Jean-Fish. I'll just go shower, and get dressed, and find Will and Bell. Keep them company." But she sounded alarmingly depressed, and she wouldn't look at him.

"I'd rather not."

"We're both supposed to be on duty," she snapped. "It's bad enough that I can't control myself -- bad enough that I can't -- "

"You didn't anticipate what happened. No one could. Look at me."

"I don't want to." Her mood had swung yet again, to weepy. "I can't, because it won't be there, and I can't bear seeing your eyes that way. . . ."

"You may not be able to sense it, Deanna, but I assure you, the heart fire is still there." The bond was there -- no absence felt on his part, anyway. None of the aching loss he'd suffered the times they'd been far apart.

He had to pull her head around; carefully cupping her cheek and applying steady pressure, he held her facing him. Tears webbed her skin. They sat that way for a few moments, until she finally opened her glistening, startled eyes, which softened, the light catching in her unshed tears refracting to stars against the black-on-black of her irises.

She touched his face with her fingers. "You're right," she whispered. "I can see it. I just can't feel it."

"Feel better?" He wondered if most of her upset had been out of fear of losing the bond. It was something he hadn't thought of before, when Mengis had initially suggested the inhibitor as a means of counteracting the influence of emotions running high in stressful situations.

"I can't sense anything. It's like -- being adrift. Like being in space. No noise." She spoke low, as if fearing someone might overhear. Her body tensed again, suddenly, and the fear rushed into her eyes. Jean-Luc had his arms out to catch her even as she reached for him for comfort.

"Let's see about that shower." He slid an arm under her knees and picked her up, managing not to falter even though he did it from a sitting position. If he could get her through the initial disorientation of this, let her moodiness even out and help her find equilibrium somehow, the inhibitor might be the solution to the dilemma of negating the influence of the colonists on her. Because Awaya was only part of the problem, he realized -- her overall irrationality had to be related to their presence. A community of empaths setting up emotional echoes for her to sense. He wondered if there weren't some sort of feedback loop going on around him. He'd have to ask Ward to query Awaya about the moods of the colonists and find out. At the moment, however, he had a naked woman in his arms to placate.

"You keep doing this," she murmured.

"Keep doing this? I think this is only the third time I've ever picked you up this way." He sidled through the bedroom door carefully.

"Fourth. Zibyan, when I couldn't walk. Then there was the time on the holodeck, when we recreated that Risan beach and you sprained your ankle carrying me up to the beach house, and the third time while we were in France. Where you didn't sprain your ankle, but you nearly dropped me down the stairs."

"I doubt I'll hurt either of us this time. Almost there." He sidled into the bathroom and put her on her feet. "There we are. See, no bruises or lacerations."

"Yes, but you weren't trying to be romantic."

"In the shower, Deebird. You'll feel better. Sonic or water?"

She reached in and made the selection herself, stepping into the stall under the jets of water and grabbing his jacket to drag him in. He put up too much of a token struggle and stumbled, falling and banging a shin against the track of the sliding shower door. It startled him when she *didn't* react to the pain -- had he become that accustomed to her reading his every emotion?

Rather than upset her with such a slight pain, he straightened at once and tugged at the front of her bra. "You were supposed to take this off first?"

"You should talk," she exclaimed, opening his sodden jacket.

"You gave me little choice in the matter."

"One doesn't assume that fish will complain overmuch about water."

He slipped the bra off one arm, then the other, tossing it out of the stall. "Good thing you started wearing the type that fasten in front, or we'd be in here forever."

"You *could* take the boots off, silly fish."

At least this was distracting her from her un-empathic state. At least she was letting it. Much bumping around and laughing ensued, as they tried to remove his clothing and her panties in a confined space meant for one person. They warred for a bit over the temperature of the water, which was too hot for his liking and too cold for hers, then played keep-away with the sponge. She reached, leaning on his chest as he held it over his head, then settled flat on her feet and looked in his eyes. He saw the shift. She'd remembered, and though she tried to fight it, the beginnings of anguish at the loss were there.

Dropping the sponge, he closed his hands on her arms, then kissed her. Just lips to lips, asking her to not grieve, trying to reassure. She waited, maintaining that slight contact, then slipped a hand behind him and shut off the water.

"You're supposed to be on the bridge," she whispered, her mouth moving against his.

"Perhaps. But there are no red alert klaxons going off, and given the fact that we're doing nothing more than ferrying a bunch of colonists and Ward's quite capable of telling an ensign how to sit at the helm and watch lights blink -- "

"You think you can get away with dereliction of duty."

"A member of my crew is unwell. I'm merely expressing concern -- "

"By standing naked and dripping wet with her? In a shower? In your quarters?"

"Are you going to be satisfied with anything less than a resignation?" He knew Ward would have seen the transporter usage on his board at ops, and would have assumed command. After yesterday's incident, the two of them had had a short discussion of how to handle further difficulties. Site to site transporting hadn't been mentioned. This wouldn't be easy to explain.

Her eyes closed as she winced. "I hate this. It's like I'm missing part of my body. I keep trying to sense what you're feeling, to touch your mind. . . ."

"And none of this is distracting you from it. And you want me to return to the bridge. Non, ma petite, you will not be rid of me until I'm certain all is well."

"I'm letting you down. Some first officer I am, brought to tears by some insipidly-smiling lusting hairless flat-chested slut in a sheet," she blurted. "I should have found out who it was. I should have said something, instead of trying to tough it out. I should have warned you."

"You're getting upset about something you can't change. You did nothing wrong, moody bird. If this is anyone's fault it's mine for not putting together your behavior yesterday morning with what I was doing." And now he could be glad she couldn't tell how he felt -- he could hide his alarm and defensiveness at the way she described Awaya. Obviously the combined stress of her battle against the strong emotions of others and the anguish of her current state were influencing her. She wouldn't have said that, if all were normal.

He maneuvered her out of the shower and got towels for them, stepping over his soggy uniform. As he finished drying, he kicked soggy bits of clothing into a pile in the shower to be dealt with later. He turned and got caught by the sight of her in profile, drying her hair with half-hearted rubs of the towel.

For once, she had no idea he was looking. No idea he was aroused by the sight of her, visibly pregnant but only barely, her breasts beginning to get larger as well. Until she turned and looked at him, that is, and her arms stopped in mid-rub. They stared at each other for a few moments.

She turned away again, took the corners of the towel and dried her back slowly, concealing most of her body with it. He made it to within arm's length but his foot coming down in a puddle gave it away -- she darted for the bedroom door, tossing the towel at him. He pursued her without real intent to capture, at first.

The second time around the table, he did an about-face and caught her completely off guard -- that trick wouldn't have worked normally. She looked up too late and ran right into his arms. Catching herself with her hands against his chest, she met his gaze, startled.

Without heart fire, this became an adventure. There was desire in her eyes but not the psychic connection that had become so familiar. But there was something; otherwise he would have felt the loss of it, as he had before. Perhaps it had been a low dosage of the inhibitor? Or was there some subconscious component still at work that the inhibitor couldn't touch?

Before she could mourn her unempathic state yet again, he kissed her, making it a gentle question. She answered by opening her mouth. Tongues met and curled together while he considered the ramifications of this. This was only way he could think of to completely distract her, and he was also curious -- what would it be like without the heart fire?

She pulled away first. "It's different. I've never kissed anyone when I couldn't sense them."

"This should be an adventure then, shouldn't it?"

"You should be on the bridge," she murmured.

"Thank you for reminding me." He picked her up again, catching her off guard, and headed for the bed. "No wisecracks about dropping you."

~^~^~^~^~^~

"This is much bigger than our arboretum," Bell said, putting a hand on the trunk of a tree with red bark. Brilliant red, and dark shining green leaves like ribbons. They stood beneath the domed leaf canopy looking across the arboretum. Dozens of worlds were represented here. Amazing they were able to get all these plants to grow here together.

"Yes," he agreed diffidently.

She looked at Will -- all his attention was on her. "Cher?"

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong?"

He sighed, propping a foot on a tree root, hand on his hip. "I came back to the ship last week thinking all was well. Thinking that maybe we'd be able to move forward now, and the distance would be gone. We've been together for nearly three years, and talked about marriage for the last eight months -- but you hesitate. I'd rather get this out in the open than keep wondering if I'm about to lose you."

"No," she blurted, taking his hand. "You won't lose me. Will, I love you."

"Then why don't you want to talk about -- "

"I'm afraid." And ashamed, at the way tears erupted with the confession. She cupped her hand over her mouth and nose.

At least he didn't laugh. All he did was lean forward, a hand on the tree trunk, intense concern on his face. "Okay. . . that's a start. Is it the beard? The uniform? Maybe my advanced age, my rank, my overwhelming charisma? Bad breath?"

She giggled through tears, shaking her head. "Oh, no, cher, I'm afraid of. . . ."

"Of talking about it, obviously."

"Yes." Wringing her hands, she looked at the short grass between the exposed roots of the tree. "I'm a little nervous. . . about marriage."

"And I've been asking you about it. Do you feel I'm pressuring you into something you don't want to do? Bell, why do you think you can't just tell me no? I'm not going to throw a tantrum about it."

Bell wished she'd had more time. Then again, maybe time wouldn't help. It hadn't helped so far. "It isn't that simple. I don't know if I can explain it."

"Try. Please?"

She wished she could go back and do this over, from the beginning. But at least he wasn't overtly upset about it; his blue eyes showed only concern so far.

"You know that picture I have of my family, with my father and mother and all us kids, from the last time I was home? My father stands at the other end of the picture because he's long since divorced her. He only came to see me and my sister. She's been married four times. Every time she lived with the man longer, to be sure, you know? And every time she ended with divorce, once within months of the wedding. I wanted to know why she kept trying, if getting married kept killing the relationship. She said it was because of the children. My grandmother never did marry, and Maman said that always made her feel so rootless. Most of her friends had both parents. She would go to their houses and see mothers and fathers loving each other, and she had only grandmother. I didn't like the instability of stepfathers, and I didn't like watching her go through it when they separated. I told myself I wouldn't do that to my children."

"Oh." He frowned and scratched his beard. "So. . . why didn't you bring this up when we started talking about marriage?"

"I didn't know -- didn't want to lose you, because -- I wasn't sure where we stood, for a while. And when we started talking hypothetically I didn't know what it meant. I've been with a couple of men who were all talk and no do. And then I was afraid marriage was that important to you, that children were that -- "

"HOLD on. You don't want marriage *or* children? Bell, this is a little too important a thing to keep to yourself for the last three years, don't you think?" Now he was getting angry. He had every reason to be, of course.

She hid her face in her hands. "Yes," she replied weakly. "I should have talked to you about this a long time ago. I meant to talk to you about it, when you started hinting at marriage -- I meant to say something, but it never seemed quite the right time, and then months had gone by and I felt silly, and then it reached a point that I knew if I said anything -- "

"Then what you're saying is, what you put me through last week was. . . a smoke screen? A diversion? Was this the real issue -- "

"No! I mean, this was *an* issue, and so was that other -- Deanna was the bigger issue in my mind. Because all of the rest was a moot point, if you were still obsessed by her, and I thought you were. I thought it was pointless to consider -- Will, please don't look at me that way. Please?"

He was getting that dark expression she dreaded. "You let me believe we were on the same wavelength. You let me think things that weren't true."

"You're not letting me finish! When you came back and told me it was resolved with the Picards, I wanted to see it for myself. Now that I've seen it for myself. . . I'd like to discuss things. All the reasons why and the -- "

"Bell -- " Will crossed his arms and leaned heavily against the tree. "We should have done this a long time ago! Why have you been keeping this from me?"

She pushed her hair behind her ear impatiently. "I know I should have said something! I'm sorry! I didn't, so it's a little silly to dwell on my stupidity at this point when we could be -- "

"Why do I think I know anything about women? I don't believe this. Here I've been telling myself I finally got it down -- I finally manage to have something long-term. I *finally* found someone who *seemed* to want -- "

"I don't KNOW what I want, Will! I don't know what I want anymore! I didn't want children, and I didn't want marriage. I don't know if that's true any more. I don't know what to think. So all my not telling you is beside the point -- I'm back to complete confusion. All I know is I don't want you to be angry with me, Will. I just want you to love me. Is that such a terrible thing?"

She dropped too hard against a root as she sat down. Hating herself thoroughly, she sobbed and hugged herself. She sounded like a simpering fool, just the type of woman she had always disdained. Those weeping, weak women who got so caught up in a man they started hinging their lives on what he wanted. The type who fluttered about giggling about veils and flowers and matching colors. The type who would plead, just the way she had, just then. The type who didn't know what they wanted or how to find out -- she was that type. What did she want? The boring mundane day-to-day of the married couples she knew didn't appeal. On the other hand, Will wanted more permanence, and certain aspects of that appealed to her -- she did want to stay with him, as long as possible. But marriage? She was hopeless.

She heard him sigh, then a few footsteps. His arm dropped across her shoulders and the root she sat on sagged a little as he joined her. "It's not a terrible thing. You want me to love you, that's a given. You're afraid I'll leave you because I want children. Is that what I'm hearing?"

His fingers closed on the back of her neck. He shook her gently, then traced parallel lines down either side of her spine to the small of her back. Glancing at him, she leaned, falling against him and feeling his beard along her forehead.

"Do you want children?" she asked, hating the weak tone. "I'm so afraid, cher. I don't want to ruin what we have."

"Bell. . . you know what? As stupid as it was for you to keep this all bottled up the way you did, it's just as stupid that I've given you the impression that I'm inflexible about things." She sat up and blinked at him, then blinked again to banish a few tears that threatened to fall. He rested an elbow on a knee and propped his head on a fist, smiling at her. Taking her hand, he said, "Start over?"

Might as well. Bell shook his hand. "Lieutenant Christabel Sumners."

He scowled. "Not *that* far back. Brat." He tried to pull her back to him. She held her ground.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was lying to myself as much as I was to you. But there's never been anyone like you, Will. It confused me, we were doing well enough with the arrangement we had, and suddenly you were talking about where we should go on a honeymoon."

"And you went along with it."

"I know." Bell looked up into the leaves, shifting in an artificial breeze. "But we had an understanding. And you couldn't seem to resolve your feelings about Deanna, and it was easy to tell myself it was all just talk, and our arrangement was as it had been. That the words were only that, just words, said in the heat of whatever emotion of the moment we were caught up in. Part of me wanted to believe you."

"What about the rest of you?"

Oh, this was wrong -- it was hurting him, from the huskiness and the hollow ring to those words. She held his hand, flattening it between hers gently.

"I've never felt this way about anyone before. I don't think I ever will again. You make me want to change my mind about things. You make me think things are possible. I've never seen myself as a mother or a wife but being with you has made me imagine it, and sometimes believe in it, and because I kept changing my mind I told myself it wasn't fair to say anything until I did finally make up my mind one way or the other." He raised his eyes from the grass, and she caught and held them with hers, hoping he could see what she was trying to tell him. "Will, if I didn't love you, it would all be much easier than this. I would be able to transfer and move on. I could tell myself you'd be better off finding someone who wanted to be a wife and a mother. But every time I tell myself that, I know it's the wrong thing to do."

He chewed the inside of his cheek briefly, then moved to sit on the ground, leaning against the tree trunk and patting the grass next to him. She sat obediently, letting him put an arm around her. It was comfortable.

They sat for a bit, and she looked across the grass at some children playing around a small pond on the other side of a flower bed. It seemed to her that his arm grew heavier as time passed. His beard brushed her scalp through her hair -- he kissed her, just left of where she parted her hair down the middle. His other arm went around her, and his fingers meshed and rested on her right hip, the weight of his arm holding her against his chest.

"Have I ever told you anything about imzadi?"

The word brought back a rush of emotion -- it reminded her of the Picard wedding, and Deanna, and the careful way the bride had skirted the subject. She shook her head, knowing if she spoke she'd be crying.

"Do you know what it means?" His tone implied that he suspected she did. She nodded once. "So, you realize that Deanna's decided to take it as something less than a set of manacles."

Bell started to laugh, unable to keep it from turning to half-sobs. Holding her stomach with one hand, she let it play out while he held her. "I don't care what she thinks. It only ever mattered to me what you thought, Will. I had you, until we started spending time with your friends. We didn't even spend that much time with them -- but when you would come back from seeing them, you would brood. At first for just a little while, then after the miscarriage it clung to you like a cloud. Each time you thought about her, it showed up. When you stopped thinking about her, the cloud left. And so I endured, thinking it only needed time -- and what was I thinking anyway? Marriage and permanence were just talk, after all. Our original arrangement had never been superceded by anything. But the longer I told myself that the more it hurt -- I was so jealous of her!"

She pushed herself to her feet and paced away from him, putting a foot on a root. He didn't say anything. She'd thought he would -- maybe an angry outburst or something bitter, or even cold.

"She was so sure of him it never occurred to her to worry about what might happen to her if it *didn't* work," Bell exclaimed, yanking down a long leaf and pulling it through her fingers repeatedly. "She was so sure of him that she went after her new career and got it. She had that faith in him -- he had the same faith in her. I used to think the kind of devotion he showed her at the wedding was imaginary. All that romantic nonsense about finding your one and only true love, all the fantasies of love at first sight -- when I first joined Starfleet, I figured, why bother pretending? Why not just acknowledge the truth? We're all a bunch of imperfect, selfish people with needs. We should just meet them and go on with life, and not bother pretending there's anything more to it. Starfleet makes it next to impossible anyway."

The leaf knotted itself in her fingers without her conscious bidding. She threw it aside and reached for another. "I wanted to hate Deanna. She didn't just find that thing girls all fantasize about. She made it, both of them did, and proved that girlish romantic dream I used to dream was possible. I wanted to hate Deanna because she had exactly what I decided didn't exist, and on top of that, she had you. Not all of you, just a part of you, just enough of you that I knew I couldn't have it too -- I couldn't have what she had."

"That isn't true."

"Are you going to deny there's something to this imzadi thing?"

"I can't deny that. But it doesn't have to stand in the way, Bell. It doesn't stand in her way. I told you, the difficulty's been resolved. I ran myself through Deanna Troi's guerilla counseling method to resolve it. I think I'd rather run through a battlefield of Klingons while wearing a Romulan uniform than do that again. You can have what she has, if you want it bad enough. Because as far as I can tell, that's all that's gotten them this far. Wanting it bad enough."

Bell looked up at the simulated blue sky at the images of clouds, and closed her eyes. "The only thing I know for certain that I want is to be with you."

"Then we're headed in the right direction." His voice made her jump -- he'd crept up and stood just behind her, at her left shoulder. "Seems a logical first step, anyway. Right?"

She turned slowly to find him waiting for her with a smile and bright, bright eyes. Those eyes had been the first thing she'd noticed about him, so long ago. All sunshine and blue skies, and laughter. Shrugging, she rubbed her knuckles across her cheek self-consciously. He used the ball of his thumb to wipe tears from her other cheek, as if she were a child he comforted. A step brought her closer, into the warmth of his arm going around her again.

"I don't know why I thought it was so difficult to talk to you about this," she murmured.

"Actually. . . ." His hesitation made her nervous, but only for a moment. "It might have been, if you'd tried before last week. I might have lost my temper and this could have been the end of it all. But there's nothing that says you can't learn from your mistakes, and I learned a lot from my ordeal in guerilla counseling. From now on, I'll hang in there until all's said and done. I'll try not to let my wounded pride get in the way."

Somewhere deep inside, part of her shifted into place at last. Goose flesh marched up her arms. She met his eyes again, thinking about last night's near-argument, and his patience today, and how he'd finally raised the subject of imzadi -- which no longer mattered. It didn't matter to him. Not the way she thought it had, anyway, and his demeanor had definitely changed around the Picards.

"Let's talk about the future again, cher," she whispered, smiling. "If you can promise to put aside wounded pride, so can I."

~^~^~^~^~^~

Jean-Luc put her down on the bed and closed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Then realized he'd just taken another sense away from her -- but she didn't seem bothered by it.

"What are you up to, Jean-Fish?" She sounded almost normal -- intrigued.

"I'm about to give you an understanding of sex without empathic feedback. Unless you have a problem with that?"

She shifted her shoulders, pushing her head into the pillow, almost opening her eyes. "Curiosity is one of my fatal flaws."

"I thought as much. Can you keep them shut?"

"Probably not."

Among the various toys she kept in the cabinet on her side of the bed, he found the red silk scarf and tied it over her eyes. "Soreness?"

"No." Thanks to pregnancy, she was prone to sore nipples and random muscle aches. "You should be on the bridge."

"*You* should remember something." He took a bottle out of the cabinet, and a long, metallic-blue quill feather. "Regardless of where I am while aboard, I am still in command of this vessel. And I can take leave whenever I damn well please. You keep reminding me I accumulated enough of it, don't complain."

"Yes, sir." She sounded amused and tolerant, but as he closed the cabinet, he saw that she was quickly losing the smile that went with the words and touched the blindfold.

"It's all right. I'm right here. Want me to take it off?"

She lost the uncertainty. "No. Curiosity."

"Scoot over a little to your right so I can sit down. And roll over."

She obeyed, turning her head on the pillow so she could breath. Contemplating the two items he'd chosen, he picked up the bottle, waited a moment as he studied his naked wife waiting with her arms at her sides and an expectant, salacious smile, and leaned over her.

Her whole body shivered when he blew between her shoulder blades. Such responsiveness. More shivering when he brushed aside her hair to expose her upper back. When the oil touched her skin, she flinched; her fingers gathered handfuls of the bedcovers as he drizzled a long zigzag down her body.

Experienced in the art of rubbing her back, he applied himself confidently and soon had her relaxed -- almost too relaxed. The room smelled like salizhedeh, something he had previously mistaken for sandalwood but was actually Betazoid in origin, a distilled nut oil. It would relax her, work its way into the muscles and soften the skin. She responded lazily when he turned her on her back. Working down from her collar bones with a gentler touch, he used his left hand only, returning the oil to the top of the cabinet and picking up the feather.

Deanna sighed and stretched as if settling in for a nap, yawning. He caressed her abdomen one last time, removed his hand, and waited. The reaction came after a moment -- a turn of the head, a slight frown. She raised her hand but before it could find him, he stroked the tip of the feather around her right nipple.

At once, she was all anticipation, her hands gripping the covers again. She arced up toward the touch briefly. When at last the feather touched her, along the left clavicle rather than the other nipple as she expected, her head jerked to the left. He traced slow paths along her body, jumping to a new location every so often. The trick to it was the infrequent light touch of his breath, and the even less frequent touch of a tongue. Eventually, the brush of fingertips along a thigh. Anticipation, the oldest and most effective stimulant.

In no time she was practically levitating from the bed, panting -- he guessed if he didn't do something else soon she'd come after him. Normally he would be able to tell exactly when she'd reached that point. Flicking the feather aside to flutter to the floor, he kissed her nipple.

Too little too late. Somehow, he ended up on his back on the carpet.

It happened too swiftly -- or perhaps he'd hit his head and blacked out for a few seconds. Either way, she'd come down on top of him, bringing the covers with her inadvertently, and after some bumping of heads and noses she kissed him. Or, rather, she demanded a kiss, and between the blankets and her invasion of his mouth, things were a little muddled and breathing became difficult.

He tried thinking at her -- it was like talking to a wall. Rolling them over, he rearranged himself, too conscious of his own limbs and her pregnancy. How spoiled he'd become! Her arms pulled him down, or her up, however it was working out. Usually letting her take control wasn't a bad thing. But usually she could tell what his reactions were, and at the moment his focus was more on how awkward he felt at being bereft of heart fire.

He returned the kiss fervently and focused on her body, smelling like salizhedeh and writhing against him. One of her legs went around him. When she didn't get her way with all her wiggling and pulling, she wrestled him over on his back, oblivious to the fact that he'd struck a foot against the base of one of the chairs. Luckily, the pain was momentary and he had plenty to distract himself from it.

When she hesitated, it gave him the opportunity to recognize where they were -- in the middle of the floor, with her straddling his abdomen, her hands on either side of his head and her breath hot on his cheek and ear. One of his hands had gone to her side automatically as they had rolled over. The other had landed on her knee.

Her lips touched his face, gently seeking. He tore off the scarf; startled, she looked at him.

"The voice of your eyes," he whispered. "Je't aime, madame."

Deanna smiled. Her toes-curling expression was the last thing he saw before she closed the minute distance between them and kissed him. Just a few seconds of contact, then she nibbled her way down the underside of his jaw. When she reached the point at which she had to move herself out of the way to continue the path she had chosen, he almost laughed.

"I was supposed to be. . . what are you stopping for?"

"Are you complaining?" The words tickled the skin just north of his navel.

"No. I was babbling. Ignore it. An unfortunate outburst on my part. I think. . . ."

He was thinking too much. She took care of that problem, quite handily, by teasing his erection. Flirted with it, flicking her tongue across the tip, then conforming to it and giving it a slow caress before her mouth closed around him.

Some part of his brain suggested that right about now, a red alert should be interrupting them. Ridiculous. In actuality, alerts had interrupted them less than a dozen times in the past two years. It must be the absence of all-encompassing heart fire that allowed part of him to make such dire predictions even while he enjoyed the skilled manipulations of his wife.

She stopped before he anticipated she would, and crawled up to lay on his chest. Of course, again, she had no idea how far was too far -- not being able to sense it, she'd taken a guess. No matter. While kissing her again and holding her close, he considered responding to her expert oral stimulation in kind and decided against it. Instead he ran a hand down her back, over her right buttock, and gripped her thigh, pulling it over his and bending her leg. She followed the movement and raised herself slightly on that knee, preparing to mirror the movement with her other leg, but he was quick to move his hand around her thigh and down that fan of hair she wouldn't let him shave.

She pulled her mouth from his and gasped, fingers tightening on his shoulders when his well-educated fingers slipped into place and provided some indirect stimulation of her swollen clit. Heart fire or no, he could play with her as ably as she did him. The smoldering look in her eyes verified it.

Being pregnant made it harder for her to find complete release -- sometimes it took a while, thanks to all the extra blood flow to that part of her body. He kept her pinned in place between his hands, one in the small of her back, the other palm against her pubis while he teased and stimulated and she moved against him, gasping. Her first orgasm left her shuddering; she bit him, in the usual spot where shoulder and neck met.

She tried to climb higher, seeking more than a good fingering. Something he had no problem with, since having her come all over him that way had provided plenty of stimulation. Having her soft and wet and warm, wrapping herself around him --

He found himself on top almost before he recognized the impulse to move. She didn't complain. Accepted him eagerly, arms and legs around him, nibbling again at his neck and making her usual quiet pleased noises while he moved inside her. Her noises stopped being so quiet and became more urgent shortly.

In an amazing freak of chance, he came in the same instant the annunciator went off.

She laughed, then kissed him until the tone sounded again. "Computer, who is at the door?"

"Captain Riker."

"Guests," he said with a sigh. "We're being poor hosts today, ma petite."

"It's going to get uncomfortable on the floor momentarily anyway."

He realized they'd rolled back over to the bed, and that several of his joints were starting to complain; he half-pulled himself up using the edge of the bed and gave her a hand. Hesitating, he looked at her, asking the obvious question.

"I'm fine. Or I'll be fine, until you get rid of them." She glanced at the panel near the bed. "It's time for them to leave."

"You don't want to see them?"

She sat on the edge of the bed and bowed her head. Ashamed? "I think maybe it might be better if I didn't. I wasn't very smart, talking to Bell earlier. I'm afraid I was being too much of a noodge."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this. You're avoiding someone simply because it's uncomfortable?"

Here we go on the mood swing, he thought when the tears began. She sniffled and looked anywhere but his face. The annunciator sounded again. Since she wasn't moving, he hurried through the sonic shower, snorting when the feather twirled down to the floor of the stall -- it had been stuck to his back. And as he put on a uniform at full impulse, he glanced around the room. One chair knocked askew, blankets strewn about, and naked wife sitting on the bed. Aching shin, sore elbows and knees, the beginnings of what was probably a pulled muscle in his lower back, the pain of the bite on his shoulder -- nothing like afterglow.

He imagined, just for a moment, asking Will to take the colonists over -- and imagining a couple hundred Deltans running around an Intrepid class ship curtailed the thought. Will probably couldn't segregate them into specific areas the way they could on the *Enterprise*. Still, the mental picture of Will coming around a corner and finding a scene such as the one he'd confronted that first day, that of at least six hairless nude people cavorting in a corridor --

Deanna looked up at his chuckling and lost some of her mournfulness. She even smiled a little as he swooped in to kiss her cheek. At least mood swings could be pushed easily the other way, with the right stimuli. "Feeling all right?" he asked.

Her lopsided half-grin reassured. "Your new technique of helping me cope with my unempathic state is much more effective than anecdotes."

The connection took a moment to make. "I think you would have run for your life if I'd tried this, back then."

"Oh, I don't know," she said airily, giving him a once-over. "Maybe not. It would have been flattering, surprising, unbelievable -- actually, I would've probably passed out on the floor of your ready room."

"I was thinking you'd have run from the delusional old bald fellow."

She slapped his thigh. "Bad fish. You're not old."

The annunciator again -- Will was getting impatient. Jean-Luc patted her shoulder. "I'll be back shortly, to take issue with the implied accusation of being delusional. And if I know you, you'll need more attention."

"Need, want -- I'm pregnant, it amounts to the same thing."

As he left the room, he heard her giggle and glanced back to see her picking up blankets and straightening chairs. And stopping to eat lekarra from the jar on the table. She noticed him looking, winked, and wiggled her hips at him. Fluttering her tail feathers.

"Hurry up, or I'll start without you."

"Horny bird," he muttered, closing the bedroom door. Damn cravings. Now, in addition to not having the heart fire, she'd taste like pickles.

But, just inside the door, he stopped and thought about it further. Even without heart fire, she could lose herself in their lovemaking to a point of forgetting even the loss of empathic ability.

Or not. He really couldn't know what went on in her head, given the current circumstance. But much better to believe it was true.

Another moment to squelch the swaggering smirk, and he went out to face his guests.

~^~^~^~^~^~

Bell sighed. "I have duty, tonight. We're supposed to be on our way. They aren't coming out. If they don't answer hails, what else can we do?"

"Nothing, I guess, but I can't help but be a little worried -- it isn't like them. Something's wrong. I can't leave until we're sure everything's all right. This isn't just about her, either. He'd take her off duty, but he wouldn't just disappear into his quarters with no word -- "

The door to the Picards' quarters opened, cutting Will off in mid-sentence. Jean-Luc emerged. He looked tired, even a little rumpled though his uniform was impeccable, and seemed to list to one side slightly.

"We wanted to say good-bye -- it's time for us to go," Will said, sounding guileless.

Jean-Luc closed his mouth even as it opened, and he looked back at the door, then sighed. "I thought as much. Dee would come out to see you off, but I'm afraid she's not feeling well -- she's had a very bad morning."

"You aren't looking so steady yourself. Everything all right, cher?" Bell asked.

He seemed to deflate at that. "Oh, I'll be all right. I'll see you to the transporter room."

On the way, Bell watched him walking. "You're limping."

"I hit my shin on something. It's nothing."

"Nothing wouldn't make you limp." Bell studied him closer as they entered the lift. He had tooth marks on his neck. "Does pregnancy turn her into a vampire?"

She regretted it immediately -- Will jabbed her in the back with his thumb. Too late. Jean-Luc winced and put a hand to his neck. "Merde."

"Are you *sure* everything is all right?"

Will's genuine concern made a difference. Jean-Luc looked more thoughtful and less likely to climb out the emergency hatch at the top of the lift. Contemplating the floor for a moment, he sniffed and actually smirked a little. "A bit of advice, Will. When you are transporting Deltans, be careful not to put a pregnant Betazoid on the same ship. Having too many empaths in sensing range of each other can be deadly."

"It can?" Bell exchanged glances with Will.

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "Ever been in a hall of mirrors? And they're Deltans. "

Realization struck. Bell gaped, realized Will was doing it too, and couldn't help herself -- she fell against the side of the lift, laughing, sliding to the floor in a heap with her hands over her face. When the doors opened she peered through her fingers and saw a puzzled lieutenant staring in at the three of them -- the smirking Captain Picard, the laughing Captain Riker, and the nurse collapsed on the floor.

Will helped her up. "Come on, Lieutenant, you're falling down on the job."

They walked down the corridor to the transporter room, and Jean-Luc slowed before they reached the door. "Bell, in all seriousness -- I hope you didn't take offense at anything Deanna might have said to you in the past two days. I don't think even she realized how much she's been affected."

Bell sighed, thinking about yesterday's odd conversations with Deanna. "I did think she was being unusually moody. But it's all right, cher. I simply attributed it to hormones." She glanced at Will, and remembered part of his ire of last night. "She's usually not so talkative about you. Or your. . . prowess."

She let a smile do the rest of the work. Jean-Luc stared at her, trying to work out whether he should react to it, probably. After a moment, she smiled bigger and decided to put him out of his misery. "I'm kidding, cher. You men are so sensitive about that -- when are you going to understand it's entirely subjective? Everyone knows the best lover you've ever had is the one you're with."

She tugged at Will's sleeve, fluttered her fingers at Jean-Luc, and led her captain into the transporter room, noticing the same silly smile on both their faces. As the transporter room door shut behind them she heard Jean-Luc laughing.

The L'norim at the console sent them back to *Lexington* without so much as a polite smile. Will contacted the bridge on the way to their quarters and set them on their way. Crew passed them; she smiled and got tentative smiles in return.

"Poor Dee," Will said as they entered their cabin. "Four months -- that means six months to go. If she follows the Betazoid schedule, that is."

"Poor Jean-Luc, if she keeps being hormonal and too sensitive."

Will smirked. "And amorous. But he asked for it. You know, Lieutenant, you're due on shift in a few hours. You're overdressed right now."

"But you're. . . still technically on leave, I guess."

"I should probably go on up and put in an appearance. But I gave the order already, we're under way -- I just have something to take care of first," he murmured, grinning slyly and leaning in to kiss her. "I think it must be the aftereffects of being on a ship full of Deltans. . . ."

  



End file.
